Broken
by Sarcasticles
Summary: When she was seven years old, Jennifer Honey broke her arm. Now a series of sorts.
1. When Jenny Was Seven

" _Miss Trunchbull!" Matilda cried, jumping about a foot in the air. "You mean_ she _is your aunt?_ She _brought you up?"_

" _Yes," Miss Honey said._

" _No_ wonder _you were terrified!" Matilda cried. "The other day we saw her grab a girl by the pigtails and throw her over the playground fence!"_

" _You haven't seen anything," Miss Honey said._

~x~

" _I broke your arm once before, I can do it again, Jenny!"_

" _I am not seven years old anymore, Aunt Trunchbull!"_

* * *

Aunt Trunchbull was angry.

That wasn't unusual. Little Jennifer Honey was constantly tip-toeing around her aunt's moods. When she started shouting, the seven year old girl knew to stand up straight and not cry. When she started pacing like an irritated bull it was best to go in a different room entirely. When she gave an order it was to be obeyed immediately and without question. Jenny knew these things, and tried her very hardest to please her aunt. That seemed to be impossible, for nothing pleased Aunt Trunchbull more than terrorizing her niece, but Jenny _tried_.

Today was different. Aunt Trunchbull was yelling cruel and hateful things, but all Jenny could do was curl in on herself and cradle her arm close to her chest. Tears streaked involuntarily down her face, and they wouldn't stop no matter how hard she wanted them to. It _hurt,_ and she didn't even know what she had done wrong. Why had Aunt Trunchbull, at the mention of her brother-in-law, stomped over and grabbed her arm? Why had she twisted so hard that Jenny felt something snap? Why, why, _why_?

"Get up, you festering pissworm!" her aunt barked.

Jenny whimpered as Aunt Trunchbull loomed over her like a giant. The veins in her neck bulged as she continued to spew vile filth, and her face was turning an ugly purple color.

"I said _get up_ you pathetic excuse of humanity! You lazy, senseless, _child_!"

"I c-can't, Aunt Trunchbull," Jenny said, cowering under that intimidating gaze. "M-my arm. I think it's broken."

Aunt Trunchbull went completely still, her lips pinching together in a nearly invisible line. The utter silence that dominated the house was more terrifying than anything than Jenny could ever remember. Leaning forward so much that Jenny could smell her breath, Aunt Trunchbull smiled. It was the look of a shark about ready to devour its prey.

"And tell me, dearie, what does a broken arm have to do with your ability to stand?"

The words were saccharine and patronizing and Jenny didn't hesitate to do as she was told. This was an unfamiliar side of her aunt, and instinctively the girl knew that this quiet, demeaning persona was infinitely more dangerous than the loud, demanding version she was used to.

"See, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" Aunt Trunchbull grabbed her injured arm with meaty hands and pulled it roughly away from Jenny's body. The girl stifled a cry as her guardian examined the damage.

"Pathetic. Truly, utterly, pathetic. You've the strength of an overcooked noodle. I barely touched you. Stop that blubbering, you disgusting snot rag, or I'll give you something to really cry about!"

But Jenny couldn't stop crying. She hunkered down, defeated and browbeaten. Her aunt's punishments were always severe, but for some reason this one was worse. Aunt Trunchbull had _broken_ something inside her, something that wasn't as easily mended as a bone.

"There's nothing for it," Aunt Trunchbull continued, "Get two sticks and some cloth."

"Wh-what?"

"To set it, you idiot! Are you so stupid that I have to explain the simplest of concepts? Take the two sticks and tie them around your arm. And don't think this gets you out of chores! I expect this place to be in top form by the time dinner comes around."

"B-but Aunt Trunchbull…"

"Are you arguing with me?" she asked, the soft voice returning. Eyes wide with fear, Jenny shook her head.

"No, but…"

"No buts!" Aunt Trunchbull bellowed. "You will do as you are told! Magnus might have coddled you, but I will not! For order to be maintained, strict discipline must be used. And trust me, girl," Aunt Trunchbull said, once again taking hold of her injured arm, "You haven't seen _anything_ yet."

Sharp, white-hot pain shot up her arm. The strength in Jenny's legs gave out as a choked sob escaped her throat. Aunt Trunchbull let her fall to the ground, vicious superiority dancing in her eyes.

"That's right. Know your place. Trash like you shouldn't have the right to lick the dirt off of my shoes. Now get up before I whip you like the dog you are."

"Y-yes, Aunt Trunchbull." Jenny sniffed, flinching at her aunt's annoyed snort. She stood, trembling before the monster of a human being that towered over her. Slowly she shuffled outside, and Jenny felt the hawk-like gaze follow her to the backyard. For a second she considered running and never coming back. But that was just as impossible as stopping the tears that fell down her face. Aunt Trunchbull was an Olympian, and Jenny was nothing more than a small, frail girl. Even if she knew where to go, there was no escape.

Sticks. Aunt Trunchbull had said to get two sticks. Jenny's stomach twisted itself into knots when she thought about what she was being forced to do. The idea of doing the housework with a broken arm made her want to vomit. Only fear and blind obedience drove her forward. She couldn't think of what tomorrow would bring, or even the next hour. Right now she needed two sticks and something to tie them with.

In the search, Jenny accidently jostled her arm. She couldn't bite back the low moan in time, and she looked back towards the house nervously, hoping her aunt hadn't heard.

Apparently she hadn't, because Aunt Trunchbull didn't come out. _Could_ Aunt Trunchbull hear such a quiet sound from so far away? Jenny thought she probably could. Her aunt's ears were specially attuned to the sound of misbehaving children, and making noises of pain was bad.

Jenny leaned against the sturdy trunk of the big oak tree that dominated the yard and wiped her eyes. The tears were falling faster now, and every once in a while she would let out a soft hiccup or sniffle. She wanted desperately to be brave and face her problems like the heroines from her books, but her courage had died with her father. Aunt Trunchbull was right in that regard. She was pitiful and weak.

"Jenny?"

The concerned voice made the girl jump. At the very edge of the property stood the mailman. Jenny had always enjoyed talking to the kind, witty man before…before. Now he never came up to the house to deliver the mail, and he never stopped for a quick chat. Aunt Trunchbull had that effect on people.

"Jenny, are you hurt?"

"It was an accident," she replied automatically. That was always the excuse used to explain any marks that couldn't be completely hidden. Usually Aunt Trunchbull did the talking ( _Oh, that? The_ _nitwit tripped. Stupid, clumsy girl_ ), but Jenny had heard often enough to know the words by heart.

"What happened?" the mailman asked, crossing the threshold of the property.

"I-I fell and hurt my arm," Jenny stammered. "From the swing."

She instantly regretted the lie, but the mailman seemed to believe it as he kneeled down by her. "Jenny, this looks serious. Have you shown your aunt? You need a doctor."

At that exact moment Jenny heard the door to the house slam shut and Aunt Trunchbull march over. The mailman drew himself to full height, which was still half a foot shorter than the behemoth of a woman.

"What's going on here?" Aunt Trunchbull thundered.

"Agatha, have you seen this?" the mailman said. "The girl's obviously hurt!"

"She'll be fine," Aunt Trunchbull said dismissively. "There's not even a scratch on her."

The mailman seemed rather put off by Aunt Trunchbull's demeanor. Moustache twitching with indignation, he took a small step forward. "You're joking."

Aunt Trunchbull's eyes narrowed. "I never joke."

"If you can't tell this child needs to go to the hospital, you're obviously unfit to parent."

Jenny watched the showdown between the two adults anxiously. Aunt Trunchbull's face flushed a spectacular shade of red at the accusation and she flexed her fingers, as if she would like to do nothing better than to pick the mailman up by the ears and throw him over the fence. The mailman noticed this and shrank back for just a moment before he steeled himself.

"If you will not take her, I will," he said brazenly. "Magnus would roll in his grave if he saw this scene. To think, the doctor's daughter not receiving medical attention. It's ludicrous."

"Need I remind you Magnus isn't here because he _shot himself_?" Aunt Trunchbull spat before grabbing Jenny roughly by the neck. "I'll take the damn girl to the hospital, but I'm footing you with the bill once it becomes evident that there is nothing wrong!"

Jenny tried to give the mailman a thankful glance, but Aunt Trunchbull's vice-like grip made it impossible to move her head. It was difficult to keep up with her aunt's long, marching strides, and before she knew it Jenny had been thrown in the back seat of the car.

"Meddling, good-for-nothing, busybody," Aunt Trunchbull snarled under her breath. "Who does he think he is, sticking his nose in other people's business?"

For one horrible moment Jenny was sure that her aunt wasn't going to take her to the hospital after all, but Aunt Trunchbull pulled out of the driveway and started down the street, barking instruction all the while.

"You tripped and fell. That's what you're going to tell the doctor when we get there. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Aunt Trunchbull," Jenny answered softly, wincing as her aunt jumped the curb.

"Do you know what they do with little girls who start spewing terrible lies to doctors?" Aunt Trunchbull asked. Jenny could see that sadistic glare through the rearview mirror and shuddered.

"N-no, Aunt Trunchbull."

"They send them to juvenile detention. They have the right of it there, using hard labor to weed out undesirable character traits. The vipers would eat you alive. You wouldn't even last a day"

Jenny's mouth was suddenly to dry to give a proper response. Her aunt didn't seem to mind, and continued drilling the story they would tell into her head. By the time they had reached the hospital she almost believed it.

* * *

Sitting in the emergency room was almost worse than being back home. Jenny didn't know the rules here, and that scared her enough that her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She didn't want to be sent away for disobeying. She didn't want to be in trouble.

But most of all Jenny didn't want to hurt anymore. She hunched over, trying to guard her arm as best she could, while Aunt Trunchbull took up the two seats beside her. She had told Jenny (loudly, in the most humiliating way possible) that since she wasn't in any danger of dying they would have to wait, possibly for hours. The implication was clear: Jenny was wasting her aunt's time. There were chores that needed to be done and training regimens that needed resumed. This foolishness only proved what Aunt Trunchbull always said: Jenny was _worthless_.

That realization made the sick feeling in her stomach worse, but this time Jenny kept the tears away. It was one thing to be bad at home. Shaming her aunt in public was an offense so grave she didn't even want to think about it.

"Jennifer Honey?"

Jenny flinched at the sound of her own name before she realized it was just the nurse. Aunt Trunchbull stood and pulled her up by the collar of her shirt, forcing her to do the same.

"Present!" her aunt barked.

The nurse looked from Jenny to Aunt Trunchbull, a look of plain shock on her face. They made quite the pair, the small slip of a girl and her hulking aunt. If you didn't already know it was impossible to tell that they were related at all. Then again, technically they weren't. Aunt Trunchbull was a step-sister to Jenny's mother. They shared no blood whatsoever.

It seemed almost blasphemous, but Jenny took no small comfort in that knowledge.

With admirable effort, the nurse tried to regain her composure. "And what brings you to the ER this afternoon?"

"I told that receptionist already," Aunt Trunchbull said, voice dripping scorn. If there was anything at all she hated, it was having to repeat herself. "She fell."

There was an awkward pause as the nurse waited for her to elaborate. Jenny, feeling the need to say something, added, "I tripped on the stairs."

Immediately Aunt Trunchbull's terrible gaze was focused on her, and Jenny looked at her feet. She was so stupid. _Children are to be seen and not heard_. No one had asked her anything. There was no need to volunteer information.

"…I see," the nurse said slowly. "And what's your relation to Jennifer, Mrs…?"

"Trunchbull. _Miss_ Trunchbull. I am the girl's aunt and guardian."

If the nurse was offended at Aunt Trunchbull's tone, she had the good sense not to show it. She was fairly young herself, at most twenty-five. There was a sharp look to her eyes, though, that didn't completely disappear when Aunt Trunchbull spoke. Jenny wondered how that was even possible. Everyone in their right mind was terrified of her aunt.

"Okay, Miss Trunchbull. I'll take Jennifer back now." Aunt Trunchbull nodded crisply, and made to follow them. The nurse gave an ice cold smile. "Oh, you'll need to stay here. Someone will come get you a few minutes."

"I am that girl's guardian, and I demand to be present for whatever testing she goes through!" Aunt Trunchbull managed to make it sound like a threat, and for a moment Jenny thought her aunt was actually going to strike out in public. The tendons on her thick hands stuck out, and the dangerous, predatory tenseness returned to her shoulders.

"Jennifer will need an x-ray, Miss Trunchbull," the nurse explained, the barest hint of fear hidden behind her professionalism, "and it's against hospital policy for anyone extra to be present for the procedure. It's the radiation, you see. Someone will come get you when we're through. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

Eyes narrowed menacingly, Aunt Trunchbull sat. She shot Jenny one last meaningful glare, its intent perfectly clear. Jenny made her understanding known with a tiny nod, and her aunt smirked.

"Feel free to take the ungrateful terror. I look forward to the results."

* * *

"So, do you prefer Jennifer or Jen?"

Jenny was being led by the nurse to the x-ray room. Confusion only added to the sharp, ever present fear that ate at her constantly. She was unfamiliar with the hospital or nurses, and there was no reason for this woman to be acting so kindly. It had to be an elaborate test set up by her aunt, trying to stomp out any misbehavior that Jenny might consider. Yes, a test. Or a trap. It was her duty to obey her aunt's law without question.

"People call me Jenny," she answered reluctantly.

The nurse smiled, and it seemed so warm and genuine. Jenny just wanted to soak it up so she could hold onto it forever. But the smile turned sad as the nurse glanced down at her arm.

"Did you get hurt any place else, Jenny? Or is it just your arm?"

She didn't know how she was supposed to answer. "N-no, ma'am."

"I see. And can you tell me what happened? I know you've already said, but I want to know if you'd like to add any details."

Jenny almost said the stairs, just like she had been told, before she realized something. When people fell down stairs they twisted ankles and got bumps and bruises all over, injuries that Jenny lacked. This woman suspected something. Jenny didn't know what, exactly, but she did know that she didn't want to go to juvenile detention for being bad.

"It's okay to tell me," the nurse prompted. "It's just you and me here."

"I misspoke," Jenny said, surprised by how even her voice sounded and by how easily the lie came out. "I fell off my swing. I wasn't supposed to, but I did anyway. It's my fault."

"Oh, honey, no it's not," the nurse said. Jenny could have sworn she heard disappointment, but she couldn't be sure.

* * *

Jenny was left alone as her cast hardened. The doctor left to see another patient, and Aunt Trunchbull was signing paperwork. Jenny stared glumly at the floor as the nurse slipped into the room. Her arm didn't hurt so bad anymore, which meant it was almost time to go back home.

"Hey, Jenny," the nurse said quietly.

She looked up from the floor, eyes wide and somber. "Yes, ma'am?"

Jenny made sure to be as polite as possible. She had overheard the doctor tell her aunt that she had something called a 'spiral fracture'. She didn't know how this was different from any other broken bone, but upon hearing the diagnosis Aunt Trunchbull's whole demeanor had shifted, this time playing the part of the worried guardian.

It just like when her father had been alive. Aunt Trunchbull could pretend to be normal when she had to, but the longer she kept the evil, angry person she really was bottled inside, the worse the result once it was released.

"I just wanted to talk to you one last time," the nurse said. "You're going home soon. Your aunt is working on the discharge papers now."

Jenny's drawn, pinched face fell, and for a moment she felt so miserable that she almost cried. But she didn't. Instead, the nurse sat beside the young girl and slipped a piece of paper in her pocket.

She did not know it, but Jenny's diagnosis of a spiral fracture _did_ make a difference. As the plaster for her cast hardened, the nurse and the doctor engaged in a heated discussion, the question being whether or not was to file a report for suspected abuse against a minor. The nurse, who was fresh out of school and new to the area, was ignorant of Agatha Trunchbull's reputation and wanted the horrible woman locked up. The doctor, a colleague of the late Magnus Honey, did not. He had met the former-Olympian once before and had no intentions of crossing paths with her again. One did not go around poking bears with a stick, he said, and besides, the child wouldn't admit to anything. The nurse had been overruled, and that was the end of it. Any further argument would put her own job at risk.

"It's the hospital's number," the nurse explained, sneaking a fugitive glance behind her. "If you need anything, call and ask for Lynn. Even if I'm not working, you can talk to any of the nurses here."

 _Talk about what_? Squirming in her seat, Jenny shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm sure I'll be fine."

There was a moment of awkward silence. "You'll be starting school again soon, won't you?"

"In three weeks and five days," Jenny said quietly, looking down at her shoes.

"Do you like school, Jenny? Are there any friends you're excited to see again?"

Again, Jenny hesitated. She very much wanted to say she wished she could _live_ at her school, but she couldn't. "I like to read," she admitted.

"Good," the nurse said firmly. "Education is important. A good education can help any dream come true."

Jenny's head shot up. "Really?"

"Of course. Look at me. No one thought I'd amount to much of anything, but here I am with a good paying job, and I'm able to help support my family. Education opens doors. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

At that moment Aunt Trunchbull burst into the room. At the sight of her aunt, Jenny drew rigid.

"Get up, we're going!" Miss Trunchbull said, the volume of her voice making the nurse wince. Immediately Jenny stood and allowed herself to be pulled roughly out the door. No one moved to stop the draconian woman who stormed down the hall, and no one spoke against it. Agatha Trunchbull was a force of nature. One could batten down the hatches and wait for her to blow past, or they could stand in her way and be utterly destroyed.

With the eyes of the whole hospital on them, Jennifer Honey made her way home.

* * *

Hugging her knees close to her chest and burying her head in her arms, Jenny tried to stifle the sound of her tears. It was past midnight and she was exhausted, but sleep would not come. The medicine the hospital had given her for pain was wearing off, but Jenny was too scared to ask for more. As expected, she had still had to do her chores, and as expected she failed to meet her aunt's expectations. Aunt Trunchbull hadn't hit her this time, but the tongue lashing and subsequent trip to what her aunt called 'the Chokey' was worse. Jenny had spent what felt like hours locked in the tiny supply closet Aunt Trunchbull kept cleared out for such punishments, until her bladder was full to bursting and her throat bone-dry with thirst. In the end she had broken down into an almost manic terror, screaming and begging for her aunt's forgiveness.

Jenny had very nearly given in and called that nurse. To remove the temptation, she ripped the paper into tiny shreds and flushed the pieces down the toilet without even looking at the number. It wasn't like she could call without her aunt noticing, and telling never did any good.

Her Lissy Doll was her only comfort. Jenny clung to one of the few good things she had left. If she tried really, really hard, she almost thought she could still smell her father's cologne in the doll's hair. The delicate china face was perfect and smiling, reminding her of happier times.

It was getting harder every day to remember what happiness felt like. As Jenny fell into fitful slumber, broken and hurting, she dreamed for a day when she would finally be free of the monster who lived in the room downstairs.

* * *

The next day after she had finished with chores, Jenny sat by the oak tree and waited for the mailman. Aunt Trunchbull had gone out for a training session, giving her the opportunity to talk to the man whose company she enjoyed so much. While she had no intention of bringing up yesterday, if he could see her cast he would know she was okay. Since Jenny dared not to tell him thank you directly, it was the best consolation she could manage.

But he did not come that day, or any day thereafter. It took Jenny a long time to gather enough courage to voice this observation to her aunt, only to be rudely informed that he had been removed from his route after too many complaints of unprofessional behavior.

It was one of the first demonstrations of the power Agatha Trunchbull held in the community as well as the home. Jenny was devastated but not surprised, for by then she already had terrible suspicions of what atrocities her aunt was truly capable of.

Aunt Trunchbull was a dark shadow that reached into every facet of her life. In Jenny's elementary years it didn't take long for everyone to know that the universally hated principal was her guardian. Despite being a bright pupil, her teachers refused to acknowledge her success for fear of crossing their superior. And, as if that weren't enough, Jenny had to live with the stigma of being the girl whose father had killed himself.

When she was older and out of Cruncham Elementary, what few invitations she got for birthdays and get-togethers were politely declined, Jenny always begging off with the excuse that she was needed at home. It didn't take long before she was ignored. It was best that way, and she could lie to herself and say she didn't mind.

And so Jennifer Honey grew from a very lonely girl into a very lonely adult.

Books were her only escape, the children she taught her only joy. She eventually managed to escape her aunt's house, but not her influence. Jenny was weak, small, and cowardly. That would not change. She had not only lost, she had been _broken_.

The problem with broken things is that it often takes a great deal of time to put them back together, and the end result is never quite the same as before. It wasn't until she was twenty-three years old that Jenny crossed paths with the spectacular girl by the name of Matilda Wormwood. Until that time, she was faced with unimaginable horror forced to endure countless injustices.

But broken does not mean unfixable. A miserable past does not have to lead to a miserable future, and just because one is beaten down does not mean that they cannot get up again. Jenny learned this lesson the hard way, until little by little, bit by bit, the day came when she was able to stand on her own two feet and overcome the monsters of her childhood.

* * *

 **AN:** I've had this sitting finished on my computer for awhile and finally decided to post it. I'll mark it as complete for the time being, but it is my hope to someday turn it into a multi-chapter story delving more deeply into Mrs. Honey's backstory.

This fic came about because I recently saw the movie for the first time in a long time, and the line "I broke your arm once" sticks out a little more after you've grown up. I've also been on a children's literature kick and read the book for the first time, while also realizing they made a musical. Why I didn't hear of this amazingness sooner, I don't know. In both the book and musical Miss Honey's home life is elaborated on a little bit more (and her adult life more sucky), and that just made the character all the more interesting to me.

If I ever continue, I will mix together the movie, book, and musical 'verse, mostly for my convenience (and because I like quotes from all three). Miss Honey's backstory and adult life will be more in line with the books—i.e., no escapologists—but this fic takes place in the United States during the 1970s through the 90s, depending on how old Mrs. Honey is at the time. As mentioned Miss Trunchbull will be Miss Honey's step-aunt rather than a blood relation, and, unfortunately, no one will spontaneously break out into song.

Reviews are appreciated, even negative ones. Flames, however, will be ignored. I've tried to deal with this subject as respectfully as possible, and I would like that same courtesy extended in your replies. Abuse of any sort should not be tolerated, whether in the home or over the Internet.


	2. When Jenny Was Ten

" _When I grow up, I'll be brave enough to fight the creatures that you have to fight beneath the bed each night to be a grown up."_

-Miss Honey, _When I Grow Up_

* * *

Before her father died, Jenny had never been scared of the dark. There had never been any reason to be. Her father had always chased the monsters away. Night had merely been an extension of the day, with its own adventures and stories.

But now…now…

Now the darkness was suffocating. It swallowed her, making her throat close in until Jenny felt like she couldn't breathe. Every night when the lights went out Jenny would hide under the covers and close her eyes, as if she could wish away the blackness. Shadows turned into terrible monsters, and the innocent creaks of an old house suddenly transformed into ominous harbingers of doom. Demons lurked just around every corner, demons that were very real and wanted to hurt the young girl very badly.

Jenny had no parents to banish the monsters back under the bed where they belonged. She didn't have the courage to fight the fiends that haunted her dreams. Every night it seemed like it couldn't possibly get any worse, and every night it did.

" _Jennifer Honey_."

The voice was soft and menacing. And angry, oh so very angry. Jenny tried to placate the monster with hard work and perfect obedience. Every time she failed. Huddling under the covers was useless, the horror was unescapable.

" _Jennifer Honey, you will get up this minute. Show your face, you ungrateful plague brat! You craven beast!_ "

Stifling a whimper, Jenny clutched her doll. It took every ounce of strength to get out of bed and step on the cold wooden floor. Every instinct was screaming at the girl to run and hide, but instead she took another step towards the hateful voice. The seconds it took to reach the door felt like hours. With shaking hands Jenny reached for the knob, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the tears away.

She couldn't do it. Jenny stood with her hand on the doorknob, but no matter how much her brain said it would only get worse the longer she waited, her heart refused to go forward. She knew what stood on the other side.

The monster roared, and the door burst open. Jenny was thrown backwards and landed painfully on her tailbone. Timorously she looked up. A hulking figure towered in her doorway, beady eyes glowing with rage, mouth turned down into a cruel snarl.

Jenny flinched, curling in on herself. She didn't struggle as a hand the size of her head grabbed her by her pajamas and pulled her back to her feet. She didn't resist she was shaken violently. She didn't move as the giant loomed over her, looking for all the world as if Jenny were a bug that needed to be squashed.

"Ungrateful whelp! Disobedient wrench! Filthy maggot! Explain yourself!"

Jenny didn't know what her aunt was talking about. Silence was always safest during times like this. Again and again Jenny had been told excuses were worth less than a used wad of toilet paper.

Thick, sinewy fingers grabbed her ear and pulled her through the bedroom door. Suppressing a yelp, Jenny did her best to keep up with the long, marching strides. She was yanked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Once there an accusatory finger pointed to the sink.

A paralyzing strike of horror went through Jenny when she realized what she had done. Setting out on the rack was a pile of dishes that she had forgotten to put away. She washed and dried them after making supper, but in her rush to vacuum the halls she hadn't put them back in their proper places.

"Explain yourself!"

There was no explanation. _A place for everything, and everything in its place._ Jenny failed with even that simple command. She began to shake uncontrollably, for she knew that disobedience could only lead to one thing.

"A-aunt…"

"Shut up! Even a sniveling worm like you should know better. Children are to be seen and not heard!"

Jenny wanted to protest, but her stomach was churning painfully and if she opened her mouth she was afraid she would throw up. Besides, as unfair as it was, her tormenter was right. She had been given a task, a very simple one at that, and she hadn't done it.

"And children should know to obey their betters," her aunt said, her voice cold and hard. "I think some time in the cellar would stamp the rebellion right out of you."

"No!" Jenny exclaimed before she could stop herself. She would take on extra chores, a lashing, anything but the cellar. "Please, I'm s-sorry…"

Without warning Aunt Trunchbull struck out, boxing Jenny's ear. The force of the blow knocked her down. Towering over her niece, Aunt Trunchbull glared at her with enough intensity to peel paint.

" _No._ A miserable, festering pool of ooze deserves no consideration. The vagrant criminal gets no say in his punishment. You, you disobedient little imp, are no different. Now quit simpering, or I shall give you something to really cry about!"

Aunt Trunchbull grabbed a fistful of Jenny's hair and trooped towards the cellar door. Jenny's fear was replaced with blind panic. She couldn't go back, not again. She couldn't be locked up in the dark, all alone with only the night terrors for company. She couldn't handle that tiny space, with its impenetrable walls that seemed to grow smaller with every passing hour. She would go mad.

" _No_ ," Jenny cried desperately, trying to fight against the hold with no avail, "I-I'm sorry! P-please, I'll be good! I promise! I'll do whatever you want, j-just don't make me go back!"

" _SILENCE!"_ the monster bellowed. Twisting Jenny so they were face to face, Aunt Trunchbull leaned down until their noses were nearly touching. Jenny froze, hardly daring to breathe. The intensity of her aunt's gaze was enough to make the bravest of men balk, and the incandescent wrath that was etched into every feature made Jenny want to run away and hide.

"You _will not_ argue. My rule is final. You will not… _Look at me when I'm talking to you!_ "

Jenny hunched down on herself, trying to disappear. She couldn't bear taking her punishment stoically like she knew she should. She couldn't stand up straight and say, "Yes, Aunt" at the appropriate times. Jenny could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, and knew if she started to cry her punishment would only be worse.

A hand wrapped firmly around her jaw and jerked her head up. "I'm beginning to think you're _trying_ to upset me," her aunt snarled. "Poor posture exposes a weak character. Slumped shoulders indicate an untrustworthy individual. Curvature of the spine displays a criminal nature."

A small noise of terror escaped from Jenny's throat. The rage was escalating. Jenny would be unable to defend herself if her aunt decided a true beating was in order.

"You _child!_ " Aunt Trunchbull spat the word as if there were no greater insult in the world. "Disobedient, senseless, filthy insect, daughter of a whore and a bastard…"

The tirade continued for quite some time, spittle flying off of her aunt's lips as she spewed every vile thing she could think of. Jenny couldn't move, could hardly breathe as her aunt's hand covered her mouth and partially blocked her nose. A deep, primal fear was beginning to overwhelm what little rationality she had left. She tried to struggle, but her aunt's grasp was like iron. Jenny didn't even think Aunt Trunchbull realized how hard she was trying to move.

Finally the rant wound down, and a cruel smile cut across her aunt's face. "It's time you learned your place. Hopefully your time in the cellar will give you time to reflect on your insubordination and excise your undesirable slovenly character, but I doubt it. Little girls usually require repeated reminders before the lesson sticks."

The words cut Jenny to the heart. This time there was no struggling when Aunt Trunchbull dragged her down the stairs, Jenny submitting herself to her aunt's will. She knew she deserved it; she was a small and worthless. She had no character or strength. If she had been better, this wouldn't have happened.

It was all Jenny could pray that her aunt would be merciful, but as she was led to the dank, dark cellar she knew that mercy was one quality Aunt Trunchbull didn't possess.

* * *

Punishment from Aunt Trunchbull came in two flavors. The first, reactive type occurred when she caught an unruly child in the act of wrongdoing. It stemmed from her immediate, emotionalresponse and usually included physical beating or humiliation.

The second type of punishment was rarer but all the more terrifying for it. This type of discipline was cold and calculated, only meted out when Aunt Trunchbull had time to think of a suitable castigation that fit the crime.

The cellar developed from this second type of punishment. Agatha Trunchbull knew—despite her opinion on the matter—she could not continually thrash the children left under her care. It was unknown whether the Chokey was first devised in the halls of Cruncham Elementary or in the home of Magnus Honey, but the two locations clearly fed into one another.

The main difference between the Chokey found at the school and the one in the cellar was that there were no spikes, nails, or broken glass at home. Jenny barely had any room to crouch down in to a ball, but there was no reason for her to come to physical harm while locked downstairs.

On the other hand, when she was at home Aunt Trunchbull was under no obligation to ever let her out.

Jenny buried her head in her hands, trying to hang on to the last scraps of her shredded nerves. The cellar was cold and dark, and smelled faintly of ammonia from the time she had been unable to hold her bladder. It was a weekday. There was school tomorrow, and her aunt did her best to keep up appearances. She could only afford to keep Jenny locked up for a few hours.

Even with the constant reassurances, Jenny could feel the beginnings of hysteria creeping on the edges of her consciousness. The thought of spending only hours was no comfort when the seconds felt like minutes, and minutes like an eternity.

Jenny distracted herself by repeating her lessons. She mumbled her times tables forward and backwards, named the presidents in order, and was halfway through her state capitals when the first tears came. They streaked silently down her face and dripped off the end of her nose into her hands. Jenny hiccupped _Juno, Alaska_ and _Honolulu, Hawaii_ before her throat constricted too much to speak. Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to pretend she was anywhere but here.

It didn't work. The reality was too strong, the darkness too pervasive. The cool air chilled the sweat on her skin, and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out. The last time she hadn't kept quiet enough while being punished Aunt Trunchbull had threatened to throw a javelin through the door.

 _Miserable fool. Dirty, nasty little creep. Ignorant, boorish, sluggard. Ill-mannered, ill-tempered, ill-bred lout. Maggot. Hellion. Menace. Rogue. Scoundrel. Stupid. Stupid, stupid,_ _ **stupid**_ _…_

The whispers that sounded just like her aunt swirled all around the tiny space, making it even more claustrophobic. Jenny took a deep breath to calm herself. It caught in her throat as she tried to imagine what the punishment would be for her next, inevitable failure. Her breathing became more ragged as all the possibilities tore through her mind and the walls of her prison began to collapse around her. She had school tomorrow. How could she explain if her teacher noticed something was wrong? What of her classmates? The janitor? What if Aunt Trunchbull _never_ let her out, and Jenny was stuck in this little room until there was no oxygen left and she suffocated to death?

Jenny didn't want to die, but the possibility was too real to ignore. She was supposed to somehow learn to be brave and defeat the monster that made her life a living nightmare, just like the heroes in her books. Aunt Trunchbull _couldn't_ just leave her here!

Except that she could, and Jenny knew it. It was impossible for her to catch her breath as she grabbed two fistfuls of her hair and curled in on herself, feeling sick and dizzy and faint all at the same time. She was going to die because she hadn't put the dishes away. She was going to die just like Mother and Father, only no one would care because she was a stupid, useless little girl.

"Please," Jenny sniffed. "I'm s-s-sorry."

Her frayed nerves snapped, and the panic that she tried so hard to suppress bubbled out. Jenny kicked against the door. It rattled but did not budge. She kicked again and again and again, and when she got tired of kicking Jenny stared to pound against the rough wood with her fists, ignoring the pain as slivers cut into her skin.

"Let me out!" she cried desperately. "I-I'll do better, I promise!"

No one came. No one opened the door or offered the soothing words and understanding she needed. Jennifer Honey called for help in the only way she knew how, and even as her screams trailed off into broken sobs, the monster in the room upstairs remained unmoved.

* * *

Soft pre-dawn light filtered through the windows as Aunt Trunchbull let Jenny out of her prison and led her upstairs. Jenny's knuckles were raw from her disgraceful breakdown, and her whole body hurt from being cramped into such a tiny space. Her original assessment had been wrong: Aunt Trunchbull never intended for her to go to school today. As she was thrown into the bathroom with a barked order to clean herself, Jenny could see how foolish it had been to think otherwise.

Dark circles under her eyes stuck out against clammy, pale skin. A bruise was starting to form on her jaw, and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. It would have been impossible to hide how piteously pathetic she looked, let alone fake her way through a day's worth of lessons.

Jenny's hands shook as she turned on the tap and washed her face. She jumped as Aunt Trunchbull slammed a door shut down stairs. Though she was exhausted, her senses were on overdrive.

The bathroom door burst open without warning. Aunt Trunchbull loomed in the doorway, already dressed in her usual work attire. She stood with her legs slightly parted and her hands on her hips. Jenny cringed, half-expecting a blow.

"I expect dinner ready when I get home," her aunt shouted. "And I expect it to be done _properly_ this time, none of this stuff and nonsense like last night. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Aunt Trunchbull."

She sniffed in disapproval. "A dog can only have one master, Jenny," she continued, almost serenely. Jenny was so terrified that she didn't think she could have moved even if the house were on fire. The way her aunt was looking at her made her feel so small, and the way she smacked her riding crop against her thigh made her sick with self-loathing.

"I _own_ you, Jennifer Honey. Nothing you can do will ever change that. You live to serve _me_. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Aunt Trunchbull."

"Excellent. Now I'm going to work, and while I'm gone you are going to complete the list of chores I left for you on the table."

"Yes, Aunt Trunchbull," Jenny whispered.

She nodded and turned sharply on one heel, apparently satisfied. Jenny stood frozen until she heard the front door open and close. Then the strength left her knees and she slid to the ground. She sat for a long time, tired and miserable. After a while Jenny roused herself and began the long walk to the kitchen.

To get from the bathroom to the kitchen she had to walk through the living room. By this time the sun had risen completely, and orange-gold light streaked into the house through large French windows. It was a beautiful morning, the sky filled with pinks and yellows as the last of the dark was banished away. Jenny paused to look outside, hugging herself.

Before her father died, Jenny had never been afraid of the light. Each morning brought about new starts and fresh adventures. Her parents had promised safety and belonging, and there had never been any doubt that she was loved.

But now…now…

The light exposed her every weakness. It was impossible not to see the truth of her terrible situation every time she got up. Morning meant the beginning of a long day's labor and the potential of another failure. The monster who lorded over her life was not hampered by the light and lurked around every corner.

With slow, dragging steps Jenny went to the kitchen. The last of her energy was quickly fading, leaving her limbs leaden and clumsy. As she picked up the list Aunt Trunchbull left, her hands shook with exhaustion instead of fear. Jenny couldn't bite back a groan when she saw everything that she had to do before her aunt got home.

Taking a deep breath, Jenny set down the list and began putting away the dishes.

* * *

 **AN** **:** So here's chapter two. I was originally going go chronologically from when Jenny was four till Matilda gets rid of the Trunchbull, but this has been sitting complete on my computer for a while, and I don't know when I'll get to write more for Jenny. So instead I'll post a series of interconnected one shots as inspiration strikes. The effect should be (basically) the same. I think.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter one. Friendly reminder, I like to respond to reviews and will answer questions when asked, but I can't do that for those who sign in anonymously.


	3. When Jenny Was Eight

_Miss Honey put down her pencil and removed her spectacles and began to polish the lenses with a piece of tissue._

* * *

Jenny stared at her page, double checking her quiz for what felt like the hundredth time. She concentrated so hard she could feel a headache beginning to build behind her eyes and the numbers started to swim over the page. She was _sure_ she'd gotten the questions right this time. At recess she'd eavesdropped on Ruthie Burrell and Opal Hendricks having a competition to see who could recite their multiplication tables fastest, and though Jenny didn't dare to join their conversation she was pleased to find that she knew most of the answers before they did.

Everyone knew that Ruthie and Opal were the two smartest girls in class. They always raced to see who could raise their hands fastest and were the ones who always knew the answer when no one else would. If Jenny knew _half_ of what they did, she could pass this quiz.

"All right, pencils down," Mr. Grey said absentmindedly from his desk. "Everyone pass your papers to the end of the row. Jimmy, Alicen, please pick them up."

The class rushed to do as Mr. Grey said. Math was right before lunch, and there wasn't a child in the room who wasn't squirming in their seat. But no matter how hungry they were, not one of them raised their voice. Mr. Grey was a stern, no-nonsense teacher with severe eyebrows that made him look like he was always angry. Aunt—no, she was _Miss_ Trunchbull while at school—was scheduled to observe the class next period, and if the class was rowdy Mr. Grey wouldn't hesitate to tell, and no one wanted to run laps around the school backwards again.

"You may now line up. _Quietly_ ," he said when the noise level rose to a low hum. When the class had satisfied these instructions he waved them off with a flick of the wrist before going to erase the questions off the board.

Jenny ducked her head to avoid Mr. Grey's harsh gaze and shuffled to the cafeteria with the rest of the class. Her head was starting to throb, which didn't make any of the nerves about Au— _Miss_ Trunchbull's impending visit any easier. In the past, school had always been the one place she'd done well, but this year things were different. Mr. Grey demanded excellence from his students, and while he lacked her aunt's cruelty, he wasn't exactly _nice_. Jenny struggled to keep up, and her already battered self-confidence was starting to crumble into nothingness.

But today wasn't going to be like that. Jenny knew she knew her times tables and since she'd started doing the grocery shopping she had gotten quite good at adding decimals. There would be nothing for Aunt, no _Miss_ Trunchbull to criticize her for. Jenny passed her quiz, she _had_ to have.

Then why did he feel so nervous?

* * *

While the little hellions that made up his class were out to lunch, Jonathan Grey graded papers. He did so with almost frightening efficiency, not bothering to take the time to even look at the name of the quiz he was checking. He had made sure to go over the material and had even been generous to suggest that the class should have their parents help them count money to reinforce their lesson about decimal points. If a student choose not to heed his advice, well, that was not his fault.

Over the course of nearly thirty years of teaching, Jonathan had come to the conclusion that the students who wanted to learn would learn, and those who didn't wouldn't, no matter how much effort he put into them. Years of dealing with dimwitted pillocks and their even more deluded parents had burnt out any enthusiasm he might once have had towards his chosen profession. It was scarcely October and he could hardly wait for summer to begin, bringing him yet another year closer to retirement.

About halfway through his stack of papers, Jonathan came across a particularly bad showing. With resigned exasperation he began making corrections in bright red ink, and by the end the page was almost drowning in it. Jonathan set the paper aside for later. Agatha did like to make an example every now and again, and while he thought her methods were extreme in this case he felt well justified. Maybe the great she-dragon could inspire enough fear to keep his class in line for another long, tedious week.

* * *

" _Sit_ ," Aunt Trunchbull barked. The command was scarcely out of her mouth before Jenny was at her desk. She kept her head down and remained completely still, trying to blend in with the twenty-two other children that made up the third grade class. The boy who sat in front of her was a little on the heavy side, so from a straight angle she was almost completely hidden from view.

Unfortunately, Aunt Trunchbull liked to pace as she lectured, sniffing out bad behavior better than a bloodhound. After pouring herself a glass of water from the tin pitcher at Mr. Grey's desk she began to do just that. As she passed, students tried to sit up a little straighter, most holding their breath for fear that this was somehow an offence to the unpredictable principle.

"I am _told_ ," Aunt Trunchbull began, punctuating the word by snapping her riding crop on the desk of a student she felt wasn't paying attention, "that you were meant to learn about decimals this week."

"Yes, Miss Trunchbull," the class chorused.

"Pathetic," Aunt Trunchbull said scornfully. "To think that such a simple concept needs to be _taught_. In my day, there was no need to waste valuable time learning to count money. We were just expected to know. _Jennifer Honey_."

Every eye was on Jenny as she stood by her desk and she wished that the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Aunt… _Miss_ Trunchbull stalked towards her, a vicious smile cutting across her face. It was rare for her to single Jenny out while at school. There was no need to, not when she could just as easily punish Jenny at home where no one could see.

"Jennifer Honey," she repeated in a light, conversational tone that Jenny did not trust, "did _you_ learn about decimals this week?"

A lump formed in Jenny's throat, and it was all she could do to manage a halting, "Yes, Miss Trunchbull" in response.

"Then explain this!" Aunt Trunchbull slammed a sheet of paper Jenny hadn't noticed she was carrying onto her desk. It was her math quiz, and based on the number of red marks she had done quite poorly indeed.

Jenny had no explanation to offer. She'd tried her very best, copying each question off of the board with the care usually reserved for transcribing Scripture, showed all her work with her neatest penmanship, _triple_ checked all her answers to make sure she'd not made any stupid mistakes…

"I-I don't…"

"There are twenty questions on this sodding piece of paper. Do you know how many are correct? Maybe I should tell you, since counting seems to be a concept beyond your Neanderthalic mind. Do you see this number here? The one and the two together make the number _twelve_. Say it with me, Jennifer, _twelve._ "

"T-twelve, Miss Trunchbull," Jenny said, her cheeks flushing red with mortification.

"Very good!" Aunt Trunchbull mocked. She began to pace around the room once more. "Now, since basic addition seems to be too much for you to comprehend, I'm sure division is out of the question. Can anyone in the class tell me what grade Jennifer has scraped off of the bottom of the barrel? Hmm? Anyone at all? Or are you all an idiotic bunch of twits destined for a life of menial labor."

"Sixty percent, Miss Trunchbull," Jenny whispered.

Aunt Trunchbull went very still and very quiet. She turned on the heel of one foot to stare at Jenny from the front of the room. Her eyes were burning with fury, and Jenny wished she hadn't had spoken.

"What was that?" Aunt Trunchbull asked, her voice dangerously calm. "I didn't hear you the first time."

"I-I said I got a sixty percent, Miss Trunchbull," Jenny said.

The grip on Aunt Trunchbull's riding crop tightened. There were a great many things that Aunt Trunchbull hated, but she absolutely _despised_ when a child interrupted one of her punishments. Yes, she had asked the question to the class, but she hadn't expected an answer, especially not from Jenny. The fact that she answered correctly only made it worse. Aunt Trunchbull would not be upstaged, and Jenny should have known better.

Miss Trunchbull's nostrils flared, and the third grade class braced themselves. All hell was about to break loose.

* * *

Jonathan Grey was not stupid, and contrary to what his fellow teachers thought, did not enjoy seeing Agatha Trunchbull bully his students into submission. At least, not most of the time. The tirade the principle went on that Friday afternoon was particularly acidic, and he couldn't help but cringe as little Jennifer Honey's face went from red with embarrassment to white with horror before taking on an unhealthy greyish pallor of outright terror.

Belatedly he remembered that the girl was Agatha Trunchbull's ward after her father committed suicide. Jonathan had only met Magnus Honey once—a checkup while his normal physician was on vacation—and thought him to be perfectly stable. But that had been before his wife died, and grief drove men to do funny things. The girl had his sympathy, but sympathy didn't go so far as to excuse her performance in school.

It wasn't that Jennifer misbehaved—quite the opposite, she was one of the quietest third graders he had ever laid eyes upon. Her wildly inconsistent grades were more usually seen in children with attention-seeking behaviors, and Jonathan would be damned if he could not figure out what in the world was wrong with her.

Usually this sort of puzzle didn't bother him, but this time he felt spurned into action. All children required discipline, but what Agatha Trunchbull had done that afternoon wasn't discipline. It was mean, and it was personal, and most of all it was uncalled for, because to his amazement Jennifer knew the material. She proved that as Agatha quizzed her mercilessly in questions that Jonathan would have given fourth, fifth, or even sixth graders.

The discrepancy didn't make sense. As he scoured his grade books after school he saw the picture of a basically average student whose occasional failures were equal parts drastic and inexplicable. She missed more class than most, but her poor test and quiz scores didn't always come after one of her many sick days. In fact, there was no discernable pattern, except that she struggled with mathematics most of all.

"What in the world?" Jonathan groused as he snapped his gradebook closed. He hated spending extra hours at work and was about ready to give up and go home as he looked down at the tattered remains of Jennifer's quiz. Agatha had ripped it to shreds right in front of her, finally sending the girl over the edge and making her cry.

As Agatha had insinuated, Jonathan had been going over decimals and counting money with the class. He pieced together a few of the scraps, until he could see a few of the questions she'd missed.

$1.75 + $0.80 = $2.55

77¢ + $0.21 = $0.98

Jonathan did a double-take. The math was correct, but he'd marked them as wrong. Confused, he reassembled the rest of the girl's quiz. The results were startling.

"…What in the world?" he repeated, rubbing his forehead trying to figure out how he'd screwed up so badly. Out of the twenty questions, nineteen were correct. Jennifer should have gotten an A for this work, not a D-. Jonathan scrambled around his desk until he found his answer key. His stomach sank as he compared the two.

She had written the questions down wrong.

Rather than taking the time to make three dozen copies of his quizzes, Jonathan had a habit of writing out the questions on the chalkboard and having the children copy them down in on their own notepaper. His seating arrangement was done alphabetically, but a quirk of fate had given him an abundance of children whose last names fell in the first third of the alphabet. Jennifer Honey sat in the first seat in the third row, near the back of the class. Frantically Jonathan looked down at his calendar. The school-wide eye exams had been given three weeks ago, and, sure enough, Jennifer had been absent.

The girl wasn't stupid or lazy; _she couldn't see_. Jonathan set the papers down and buried his head in his hands. He'd almost failed her, singled her out for Agatha Trunchbull's wrath, and humiliated her in front of her peers for something that wasn't her fault. It was deplorable behavior, both as a teacher and a man.

An apology was worthless if he couldn't somehow make things right. Slowly, feeling like he'd aged ten years in fifteen minutes, Jonathan packed up his things and went home.

* * *

Jenny sat outside of the principal's office waiting for Aunt Trunchbull to finish her meeting with Mr. Grey. It was only Monday, but she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up in her chair and take a nap. She didn't—Aunt Trunchbull was angry enough with her as it was—but she did allow her eyes to flutter closed and rest a little. She hadn't slept well the whole weekend, and Aunt Trunchbull had added additional chores to her already impossible workload for disrespecting her during class on Friday.

Slowly the throb behind her temples faded. The headaches were always worse during school. Maybe she was so stupid she was literally making her brain hurt trying to learn the things she already should have known. That's what Aunt Trunchbull seemed to think, anyway, and she knew Jenny's failings more than anybody.

" _Jennifer Honey!_ "

The sharp command made her jump, and Jenny jerked to her feet and rushed into her aunt's office. "Yes?"

"Quit slouching like some sort of criminal." Jenny hastened to obey, her eyes flickering between her aunt and her teacher. Mr. Grey was looking rather…grey. His body language was never very dramatic on the best of days, but if anyone in the room needed a reminder to stop slouching, it was him. Aunt Trunchbull stood with her usual perfect posture, her back ramrod straight and feet planted slightly apart. She seemed more irritated than normal, but thankfully her irritation was for once not focused on Jenny.

"Your teacher here seems to think you have a problem," Aunt Trunchbull began.

So they _were_ talking about her. Jenny wondered. "Yes, Miss Trunchbull."

"It is Mr. Grey's _theory_ that your miserable performance in maths is due to some sort of visual deficit. What have you got to say to that?"

"I-I don't know," Jenny stammered. _Visual deficit_? Did Mr. Grey think she was blind?

"I'm sure of it," Mr. Grey said. "Look, Jennifer missed the eye exams, didn't she? All you have to do is take her to the nurse's office and have her look at a Snellen chart."

"You're going soft, Jonathan. There was a time you'd call stupidity what it was. I don't know what's gotten in your thick head, but I'll not have you making excuses for the little brats just because you feel sorry for them!"

Mr. Grey let out a long heavy sigh, and his lips curled in distaste. "There's stupidity, and there's myopia. Jennifer, read for me the flier on that bulletin board."

Jenny froze, not sure if she was supposed to obey Mr. Grey when her aunt so clearly disapproved of what he was saying.

"Well go on!" Aunt Trunchbull said sharply. "Or before you know it he'll be insinuating you're deaf as well!"

Jenny turned to do what she was told. The bulletin board was on the other side of the office behind Aunt Trunchbull's desk and held only one sheet of paper. The typeface was of good size, but it wasn't large enough for her to quite make out the individual letters. Was that an M or an N? A Q or an O? Jenny's moistened her suddenly dry lips, knowing if she failed she would once again upset her aunt. But no matter how hard she stared, the words simply weren't clear enough. She shook her head.

"I-I'm sorry."

"That's fine," Mr. Grey said. "Take a few steps closer and try again."

Following this instruction put her right next to her aunt. Jenny could almost feel her quiver with barely-bridled rage. Shrinking down on herself, Jenny tried again and found her task much easier this time.

" _Bambinatum est Maggitum_. Children are maggots," Jenny said, looking up at her teacher as she translated the school's motto from the Latin. Realizing what she'd just done, her eyes widened. She'd read it! She'd read it when she couldn't before!

Mr. Grey almost smiled at her before turning his attention back to Aunt Trunchbull. "The kid needs glasses," he said flatly, and without waiting for a response he stalked out of the office, slamming the door loudly behind him as he left.

Jenny hardly noticed. She'd done it! Maybe she wasn't a stupid girl after all!

* * *

June hadn't come fast enough. Jonathan Grey looked one last time at his miserable little classroom and sighed. He knew he ought to be sad to be done with it, but he wasn't. Teaching was a young man's game, and he hadn't been young for a long time.

Jennifer Honey watched him from the doorway. A pair of round glasses slid down the bridge of her nose and nervously she put them back in place. Now _that_ was something to be proud of. Over the course of the year she'd become his best student, easily outstripping the rest without any of the irritating conceit of her peers.

And to think, all she'd needed was a pair of glasses to do it.

Jonathan sighed again. If he were honest with himself, _she_ was the real reason he was retiring early. He simply couldn't handle it any more. The girl was as bright as they came, but he knew the signs. Ten to one she'd slip through the cracks, lost in a cruel educational system that did not care. The guilt of not divining the root of her struggles earlier in the year did not ease as time went on, and in fact had worsened as she began to excel academically.

How many others had he missed?

"You waiting for your aunt?" he asked Jennifer.

The girl bobbed her head. "Yes, sir."

Awkward silence. Jonathan snapped his briefcase closed for the last time. "Any plans for the summer?"

"N-no, sir. Nothing special."

Jonathan grimaced. He'd revised his opinion of Agatha Trunchbull considerably since the beginning of the year, and couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do.

The guilt nagged worse. Just because he couldn't do much didn't mean he could do _nothing_. Jonathan found a piece of paper and a pen, and tried to ignore Jennifer's mounting curiosity as he scribbled a few lines on the page.

"Here," he said gruffly, thrusting the paper into her hand. She tentatively accepted, and her eyes scanned the page before she looked up at him and blinked in surprise.

"It's a booklist."

"Yes, and I expect you to _read_ what I've put down. Think of it as your assignment for the summer." His face softened marginally when she stammered a thank-you. "Don't mention it. I'm serious, don't. It's the least I can do."

Jonathan exited his classroom for the final time, shortening his strides so that Jennifer could keep up with him as they walked down the empty halls of Cruncham Elementary together. "Now, some of those might be a little difficult, but I think you can handle it," he said. "Ms. Phelps at the library would be more than happy to assist you if you need help."

"Thank you," Jennifer whispered.

"You're a smart kid. Keep it up, and you might go to college someday." There, he'd said it. He'd planted the seed that—if there was any justice in the world—would someday come to fruition.

Sadly, it didn't look as if Jennifer believed him.

* * *

 **AN** : It was kind of hard to find a line in the books about Miss Honey's glasses, but all the illustrations have her wearing them. It's pretty common for kids with vision problems to struggle in school, and I imagine the Trunchbull wouldn't be one to look too deeply into the root cause behind her problems.

 _To my anonymous reviewer Livi_ : fanfiction eats outside links like nobody's business and your email address didn't go through. The easiest way to get an update notification is to make an account with the site and then click to "follow" this story. It's also a more secure and safe option, as you won't have to publish your email where anyone could find it. Thanks for reading, and I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far :)


	4. When Jenny Was Two

" _My mother died when I was two. My father, a busy doctor, had to have someone to run the house and to look after me. So he invited my mother's unmarried sister, my aunt, to come and live with us. She agreed and she came."_

 _Matilda was listening intently. "How old was the aunt when she moved in?" she asked._

" _Not very old," Miss Honey said. "I should say about thirty. But I hated her right from the start."_

* * *

Jenny wanted her mother. Over the last several days Daddy had tried to explain that there had been an accident and Mommy was in a Better Place and that they had to be strong and brave because all they had was each other now. Jenny didn't understand. She was only two years old, and _couldn't_ understand that her mother was dead and would never come home again.

In the years ahead, Jenny would remember very little of her mother, but she would never forget the visitation. Daddy helped her get dressed in a black dress bought only the day before. It was uncomfortably stiff and made her want to fidget, but she saw her father's sad, tired eyes and instinctually knew that she must be on her best behavior.

"Let's go, Bumblebee," Daddy said, kneeling down so he could scoop Jenny into his arms.

"Lissy?" she asked timorously. A deep crease formed between Daddy's eyebrows and Jenny wished she hadn't asked. She liked it when he smiled and tickled his whiskers against her cheek and gave her a chocolate from his special box. He hadn't done any of those things for days now, and for the little girl those days felt like an eternity.

Jenny was going to say sorry, adding a small smile that she hoped would make him happy, when the crease disappeared.

"You may bring your doll," her father said, his voice raw and deep and most of all _sad_. Jenny hated when he was sad, because that meant she would have to sit by herself and be quiet while he talked to stern men in black suits about things like Euloggies and Kofins, two topics that only succeeded in making him _more_ sad and less likely to pay her any attention at all.

Daddy scooped up her doll, and Jenny held it close, her blonde hair falling in a curtain over her face. She'd heard someone say it would darken as she got older, and she hoped that wasn't true. She liked her hair, and Daddy said it was pretty. Only Daddy hadn't complimented her in a long time, a fact that Jenny suddenly found very distressing.

"Come on, Bumblebee, or we'll be late," Daddy said. "Your aunt will meet us there."

"Aunt Trunchbull?" Jenny asked in her lisping, baby voice.

"Yes, your Aunt Trunchbull," Daddy said, and Jenny clutched her Lissy doll even tighter. They had only met a few times before, but Aunt Trunchbull was scary, and Jenny didn't like her.

The feeling was mutual, and now more than ever Jenny wanted her mother.

* * *

The room was hot and packed full of people. Jenny squirmed in her father's arms, uncomfortable and irritable as stranger after stranger came to offer "condolences". Jenny didn't know what a condolence was, but she didn't want any more of them. She wanted to go home. Tears prickled at the corners of Jenny's eyes, and she buried her head in her father's coat.

"Excuse me," Daddy murmured. "I think she's getting tired."

Being tired meant that Jenny would have to take a nap. "No!" she shouted, pounding her small fists into his chest. "I don't wanna!"

Daddy made a distressed noise at the back of his throat, and the people in line began to murmur amongst themselves. Why were they staring at her? Jenny wanted them to go away. She wanted to go home and have Daddy bounce her on his knee while he read her favorite story about a bumblebee going out to in search of the perfect flower. She wanted Momma to make her spaghetti and laugh when it got all over her face. She wanted both her parents to take her by the walking trail, each taking her by a hand as they named all the different kind of trees for her.

She wanted her life to be normal again.

"I'll take her, Magnus," a sharp, barking voice said. Jenny stiffened. It was Aunt Trunchbull.

"Thank you, Agatha," Daddy said gratefully. Jenny howled in protest as she was shifted out of the comfort of her father's arms and into the hard, unforgiving hold of her aunt. A sudden pinch surprised her into silence as Aunt Trunchbull marched into an unused room of the funeral home.

" _Shut up_ ," Aunt Trunchbull hissed as she set her niece down uncermoniously. Jenny began to cry even louder. "I said shut up!"

A thick, sinewy hand smacked her upside the back of her head. Jenny was so shocked by the blow that her next wail caught in her throat and turned into a strange hiccoughing noise. No one had ever hit her before, and though it didn't really hurt Jenny was suddenly afraid.

"God, I knew they were soft, but you are the most disgusting child I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on!" Aunt Trunchbull snarled, grabbing Jenny by both shoulders and giving her a firm shake, hard enough to make Jenny lose hold on her Lissy doll. When she tried to reach for it Aunt Trunchbull slapped her hand away. One of her massive legs that looked as thick as a tree trunk stomped down on the doll, just barely missing its delicate china face.

"Does little Jenny want her dolly?" Aunt Trunchbull asked, lips curling into a crazed half-smile. "Well, you cannot have it! It's high time someone disciplined you around here!"

Aunt Trunchbull snatched the Lissy off of the ground, and for one, horrible moment Jenny thought she was going to break it. Instead she tucked it underneath one arm and raised herself up to her full height.

"This doll now belongs to me. If you want it back, you shall have to earn it. Any more wretched behavior out of you, and I'll make sure you never see another doll so long as you live. Do you understand?"

Jenny didn't understand. She was only two years old and she couldn't possibly understand. But she was afraid of making her aunt angry enough to hit her again, so she nodded timorously. This must have been the right thing to do, because Aunt Trunchbull's evil smile widened, and grabbing Jenny by the arm ( _too hard_ , Jenny wanted to protest) she frog-marched her to the bathroom to wash away the signs of her infantile temper tantrum.

Aunt Trunchbull stood beside Jenny for the rest of the visitation. She didn't hold the girl as her father did, nor offer her any comforting words when strange people she didn't know wanted to talk to her. Jenny almost cried again when Daddy said it was time to go home, but they were tears of relief. She never wanted to see her Aunt Trunchbull again.

But when they got home, Aunt Trunchbull was already there, and Daddy tried to explain that the hated aunt had kindly agreed to stay with them, at least until they got their feet back underneath them.

Jenny didn't understand. She was only two years old, and she _couldn't_ understand the pain her father was going through, the grief that made it impossible to look after his own daughter as he knew he ought.

No, Jenny didn't understand, and that night as she cried herself to sleep without even her doll to console her, she had never wanted her mother more.


	5. When Jenny Was Fourteen Part I

" _This little girl, this miracle, she seems not to know that she's special at all."_

-Miss Honey, _This Little Girl_

* * *

As time went on, Jenny withdrew further into herself. She rarely spoke, never smiled, and did everything in her power to avoid her aunt. By the time she turned fourteen Jenny had become a ghost in her own home, a mere shadow of the curious, happy child she once was.

This served Aunt Trunchbull quite well, and she often remarked on Jenny's reformed behavior, chalking it up to another victory brought about by proper discipline. Little girls were harder to break than little boys, but they _did_ break. And like a wild horse was of no use until tamed, a child had no value until it understood its place in life.

Jenny understood, and as she inspected herself in front of the mirror one Sunday morning she prayed she could fulfill her expected role. Church with Aunt Trunchbull was always a nerve-wracking affair. There were to be no wrinkles or spots on her clothes, every hair was to be perfectly in place. She was to sit with her back straight, nod thoughtfully at the appropriate times, and sing (not too loudly) with the rest of the congregation. She was _not_ to speak, dally, or in any way shame Aunt Trunchbull's good name.

What constituted as "shame" varied wildly depending on what mood Aunt Trunchbull happened to be in that given Sunday. One week Jenny was punished for taking too long to find a verse reference ( _"If you're that stupid, for God's sake pretend! No one wants to hear the infernal noise of turning pages while the pastor speaks!"_ ), while another time she was scolded for not turning to a passage she had memorized ( _"Too good to pay attention, eh? The laziness of children truly has no bounds."_ ). It was treacherous trying to discern when and with whom she was supposed to greet, the difference in handshake etiquette between laymen and deacons, and whether or not she was allowed a piece of the coffee cake the pastor's wife provided each week without fail.

Jenny heard angry stomping upstairs and guessed there would be no coffee cake today. She hurried out of the bathroom before she could irritate her aunt further. After double checking that the crockpot was on—Aunt Trunchbull did not like having to wait for lunch after church—and making sure the lid was secure on the pan of brownies she made the night before, Jenny grabbed her bible and waited at the front door.

It did not take long for Aunt Trunchbull to march down the stairs. Immediately Jenny dropped her gaze, but not before thinking how impossibly hideous her aunt looked in her Sunday best. Her ugly smock was replaced with an uglier blouse that strained at the shoulders, and twill breeches with a skirt that ended just below the knee. Worst of all, in Jenny's opinion, were the pantyhose that were somehow expected to flatter her aunt's legs.

"Chop chop," Aunt Trunchbull barked. "I will not be made late as you drag your feet about without purpose.

Jenny hurried out the door, wisely choosing not to argue about who was keeping who waiting.

~x~

Jenny was not allowed to go to Sunday school with the children her age. They were—in her aunt's words—a corrupt influence on her pitifully impressionable soul. Instead, during the morning service she sat with the adults and did her best to remain invisible. Jenny's duty was to be the model of perfect obedience, visible proof of her aunt's superior childrearing abilities.

This Sunday began no differently. They arrived fifteen minutes early, giving Aunt Trunchbull plenty of time to make rounds with the usual suspects: a word of greeting to the head of the mission committee, a quick inquiry with the treasurer about the health of his mother-in-law, a decisive bit of advice to the usher with the unruly son. Jenny followed all the while, trailing her aunt like a lost puppy.

 _Why do people listen to her?_ Jenny wondered as the usher nodded thoughtfully. _Can't they see who she is?_

Apparently not. Aunt Trunchbull's domineering personality was not limited to the classroom, and her opinions had clout in all the circles she traveled in. She was the famous athlete and esteemed educator, the saint who took in her sister's child. Successful in all walks of life, why _wouldn't_ people listen to the words of the great Agatha Trunchbull?

The doors to the classroom burst open, and one of the teachers for the children entered. Jenny watched Mrs. Hubbard search the room out of the corner of her eye and sighed wistfully. Several years ago the older woman had taken it upon herself to pull Aunt Trunchbull aside after church for a lengthy conversation. Jenny had not been privy to the details of that talk, but there had been some shouting, and it was the very next week that she sat with the adults for the first time.

Mrs. Hubbard came over to their table. "Good morning, Agatha. Would you mind if I borrowed Jen for the morning?"

"Whatever for?" Aunt Trunchbull asked sharply.

"Tammy's boy is sick, and she won't be able to make it this morning. I'm taking over her class, and I would like another person with me for crowd control. I'm too old to look after seventeen kiddos by myself." A sly look entered her eye. "I've heard you say how our youth never get involved in church activities. It'll give Jen a chance to try something new."

Aunt Trunchbull's jaw twitched, but to Jenny's surprise she nodded curtly. "Very well, although I doubt she'll be any good keeping the little brutes in line. She's much too soft."

"Nonsense. You'll do fine, Jen, won't you?"

Jenny scooped up her bible and stood. "What room are you using?" she asked, avoiding the question. She was glad not to have to sit next to her aunt any longer than necessary, but was uncomfortable with being the center of the conversation.

Mrs. Hubbard smiled. "Downstairs, dear. And thank you, you're a life saver!"

~x~

Mrs. Hubbard was an older, well-traveled woman with a strong enough personality to handle a Sunday school class of one hundred seventeen children if the need arose. Jenny's presence was largely unnecessary, but as the hour progressed she found that she didn't particularly care.

Because of the combined class, the children ranged between four and seven years of age, old enough to engage in the lesson but young enough that the bible stories were still new and exciting. Their incessant questions made it impossible to be nervous or shy. They didn't know who Jenny lived with or care if she was awkward, and by the time they were halfway through the lesson they had successfully sucked her into their little worlds. The hour went much too quickly, and Jenny was sad to see it come to an end.

"You did well," Mrs. Hubbard said as they cleaned up the room. The children had been dismissed and they were the only two who remained. Jenny was suddenly aware that she was alone with someone her aunt disapproved of. Her anxiety came flooding back, settling like a block of lead in the pit of her stomach.

"It was nothing," she said, hurrying to put away the crayons so she wouldn't have to look the older woman in the eye.

"You've got a knack for it," Mrs. Hubbard continued as if she hadn't spoken. "It usually takes someone a few weeks to get comfortable, but you jumped right in. The way you helped Tim with his verse was inspired."

"I just put some hand motions with it," Jenny protested. "Anyone can do that."

"Most don't, at least not to start. We can always use more help with the kiddos. If you wanted to come down next week, you'd be more than welcome."

"That's not my decision to make," Jenny mumbled before she could stop herself. Her heart nearly jumped into her throat when she realized her mistake. "I-I mean, Aunt Trunchbull likes it when I'm with the adults. She thinks I'll learn more."

"But you would enjoy working with the kids every once in a while?" Mrs. Hubbard asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I should be upstairs," Jenny said quietly.

Mrs. Hubbard's lips pinched together into a nearly invisible line. "Jen, wait. I can talk to your aunt. It _is_ important that young people get involved with church activities. You guys are the ones who will be running this place someday, you might as well get in a little practice now. Agatha knows that."

Jenny paused at the door. She would _love_ to help with the younger children, but she didn't dare say so out loud. That would only make the disappointment greater when her aunt said no. She didn't understand why Mrs. Hubbard was even trying. They hadn't spoken half a dozen words to one another since Jenny had been in her Sunday school class, and that was years ago.

Jenny couldn't think of anything to say that was polite, honest, and within her aunt's parameters of acceptable behavior. She looked at Mrs. Hubbard apologetically. "Church will be starting soon. We should get upstairs."

~x~

"Beginning at Matthew 23:13," the pastor droned, " _Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites…_ "

Jenny risked a glance at her aunt. She was sitting with perfect posture, eyes straight ahead, looking for all the world like an ideal church-goer. How many people saw what lurked just beneath the surface?

"… _You strain at a gnat but swallow a camel…"_

Aunt Trunchbull had been suspiciously quiet since Jenny had joined her in their usual pew. Most wouldn't be able to tell she was angry at all, but Jenny knew better. Quiet was a dangerous state for her aunt to be in, and Jenny was on pins and needles, knowing that the smallest thing would set her off.

"… _You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but are full of bones of the dead…"_

How could she pretend to be so calm?

"… _You serpents, you brood of vipers, how are you to escape being sentenced to hell?"_

It had been a mistake to go with Mrs. Hubbard. Jenny sat back in her seat miserably, wishing she'd had the sense to say no. There were plenty of other, more qualified people to choose from. Mrs. Hubbard had no reason to pick her out specifically.

"…And may we be blessed by the reading of His Word."

As if she were deliberately trying to make Jenny uncomfortable, Mrs. Hubbard entered the sanctuary late and slid in the pew behind Jenny and her aunt. She scribbled something down in a small notebook and handed it to Aunt Trunchbull as the congregation rose for the first hymn. Jenny swallowed as her aunt's eyes darted across the page, and dread mounted when the tendons on the back of her hands bulged. Whatever the note said, it wasn't helping her aunt's temper.

Jenny looked down at the hymnal, blinking very hard to keep from crying. It was bad enough when Aunt Trunchbull punished her without warning. This time Jenny _knew_ she was in trouble, and nothing would stop that. The wait only made it worse.

It was impossible to concentrate during the message, and had anyone her asked afterword what the sermon was about she wouldn't have been able to tell them. All the while Aunt Trunchbull sat statue-still, like an animal on a hunt. Only her eyes belied her fury, glinting with a hateful malice that confirmed there would be no appeasing her wrath this time. Jenny had crossed a line—which one, she didn't know for sure—and she would pay the price for her rebellion.

~x~

"What did you say to that no-good busybody?"

"N-nothing, I swear," Jenny stammered, backing into a wall as her aunt loomed over her.

"Then how do you explain _this_?" Aunt Trunchbull snarled, thrusting the note Mrs. Hubbard had written in her face. With trembling fingers Jenny took the paper and scanned its contents.

"Mrs. Hubbard wants me to come over to her house?"

"Don't play dumb, you little wench! There's no reason that infernal woman would want anything to do with a brat like _you_."

"I don't know," Jenny said. "Mrs. Hubbard just wanted to know if…if I could help with the Sunday school class…"

" _What?!_ " Aunt Trunchbull roared.

"I said no!" Jenny cried, raising an arm defensively. "I said you liked it when I was upstairs, and th-that I c-couldn't. I don't kn-know why s-she even asked."

Jenny was ready when the blow came, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"Quit sniveling, you miserable little liar," Aunt Trunchbull said, standing over her niece's prone form. "You are _not_ to speak to that meddling, good-for-nothing _bitch_ ever again. If I ever catch wind that you even nod in her general direction there will be consequences. _Dire_ consequences. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Aunt Trunchbull."

"Then get up and get back to work. I've wasted enough of my valuable time trying to get through your thick skull today. Pathetic, trying to use that _Hubbard_ woman to undermine my authority. Well I'll tell you, young lady, it won't work! I can see right past all your little tricks and schemes, and God as my witness I refuse to be bested by a _child_!"

Aunt Trunchbull stormed out of the room, and when she was gone Jenny dared to stand. Grateful that the beating hadn't been any worse, she looked a second time at the note clenched in her hand.

 _I would be honored to have Jen come eat at my house this afternoon._

First Sunday school, now lunch? What in the world did Mrs. Hubbard want with her? Jenny flinched as the front door slammed shut and the car roared to life. Then there was only quiet, Aunt Trunchbull gone off on her Sunday afternoon workout.

Her aunt's fastidious dedication to routine not only saved Jenny from a beating, but gave her some time to think. Jenny tucked the note in her pocket and went to start the laundry. Mrs. Hubbard's sudden and frankly bewildering interest in her defied explanation. They did not talk to one another; because of Aunt Trunchbull's dislike for the woman they rarely even _saw_ one another. Mrs. Hubbard was worldly and sophisticated, while Jenny knew she was pathetically dull.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, and the more Jenny pondered the more sure she became that she was somehow being used. Mrs. Hubbard was one of the few people who did not immediately kowtow to Aunt Trunchbull's will. Nothing good happened whenever they spoke to one another.

Then why extend the invitation?

Jenny attacked her chores with an angry fervor. She would have liked nothing else than a reprieve from the oppressive weight of the Red House, but she was not a pawn in the games between grown women. It wasn't _her_ fault Aunt Trunchbull made her sit with the adults on Sunday morning.

Except, maybe it was. It had been many years since Aunt Trunchbull pulled her from Sunday school, and Jenny couldn't recall the details that led up to that fateful argument in the church auditorium. Maybe her treacherous mouth had let more out than it should have, maybe she _had_ told the shameful secrets of her disobedience…

The phone sounded, causing Jenny to jump. She went to the kitchen and managed to answer on the third ring.

"Hello, Trunchbull residence."

" _Jen, is that you? It's Mrs. Hubbard. Is your aunt available? I would like to talk to her._ "

Jenny wrapped the phone cord around her hand nervously. "N-no, she's not. Can I take a message?"

" _I think it would be best if I talked to her myself. Do you know when she'll be back?_ "

"No," Jenny said. "I'm sorry about lunch. W-we already had plans."

There was a long silence. " _I see. Well, I best let you go. Tell Agatha I'll call back later tonight."_

"Okay," Jenny said, her voice faint. "Goodbye, Mrs. Hubbard."

" _Bye. Talk to you later, Jen."_

The line went dead, and Jenny hung up the phone. She stood transfixed, not sure what she was supposed to do. Aunt Trunchbull had made it very clear that she was to have no further contact with Mrs. Hubbard, but if Jenny failed to relay the message and Aunt Trunchbull found out then she would be in trouble anyway.

Her head swam. How was she supposed to be a good girl and follow all the rules if the rules were contradictory and impossible to follow?

~x~

In the end, Jenny didn't have the courage to tell Aunt Trunchbull, and at seven o'clock exactly the phone rang a second time. Aunt Trunchbull answered from the line in the living room, and no matter how hard she strained, Jenny could not make out what was being said. She hurried to put the rest of the supper dishes away and picked up the kitchen phone. Jenny was risking more than a beating if she were caught, but she had to know what Mrs. Hubbard was saying.

"— _I know I could have phrased it better. Please, just hear me out."_ It was impossible to miss the agitation in Mrs. Hubbard's voice.

" _And why should I?_ " Aunt Trunchbull said. _"You have no right to interfere with how I raise her."_

" _That was never my intention, Agatha. Look, my knee has been giving me problems ever since I fell down last winter. I'm still trying to come to terms that I can't do as much as I used to."_

" _I fail to see how this pertains to the situation,"_ Aunt Trunchbull said sardonically.

" _My garden's too big for me to handle alone. I thought maybe Jen could help me out. I'd pay her, of course,"_ Mrs. Hubbard said. _"I was going to ask her over lunch if she was interested, but I suppose you had plans._ "

Jenny frowned. If Mrs. Hubbard only wanted her to help in her garden, why ask her to help with Sunday school? Was it some sort of test? Or maybe the two requests were unrelated after all? But that didn't make sense…

" _Then hire someone actually capable,"_ Aunt Trunchbull said. _"The girl doesn't know the first thing about gardening."_

" _That's just it. This would be the perfect opportunity to teach her. I think it would do Jen some good to have a little responsibility, don't you? There's no better way to learn proper work ethic than through proper work."_

Jenny quickly hung up the phone, unwilling to hear any more. Were her failings so obvious that Mrs. Hubbard wanted to take her own measures to correct them? Was she really so irresponsible? So slovenly? So worthless?

Did she not see how hard Jenny tried? With tired eyes she scanned the kitchen, picking out each imperfection, every failing to meet the standards Aunt Trunchbull set.

 _Pathetic._

Eventually Jenny moved away from the phone so Aunt Trunchbull would not know the duplicitous means by which she eavesdropped on a conversation she was certainly not meant to hear. It wasn't long after that she heard Aunt Trunchbull march from the living room to the kitchen.

"You're still in here?" she barked.

Jenny did not answer.

"I've just been speaking to that Hubbard woman." Aunt Trunchbull's nostrils flared dangerously at the name, like it was offensive even just to speak it. "We have come to an agreement."

"What?" Jenny asked, daring to look up at her aunt's imposing figure.

"You heard me, maggot, don't pretend you didn't," Aunt Trunchbull said as she cuffed Jenny's ear. "Tomorrow you'll go over to her house and help with her gardening, or whatever nonsense she comes up with. Between the two of us, we might instill some proper discipline in you yet."

A second question almost fell from Jenny's lips, but she caught herself in time. "Yes, Aunt Trunchbull."

Aunt Trunchbull leaned down and grabbed Jenny by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "Listen very carefully. You will go straight there and come straight back. You will do everything she asks, you will do it well, and you will do it in _silence_. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Aunt Trunchbull."

"Your actions reflect back upon _me_. I will not tolerate any insolence on your part."

Aunt Trunchbull shoved Jenny's head as she released her, causing the girl to stumble backwards. Jenny tensed, but this time there was no blow. Instead, Aunt Trunchbull let out a bull-like snort. "Well don't just stand there! Get up and go to bed!"

It wasn't even seven-thirty yet, but Jenny hurried to do as she was told. There was no telling what Aunt Trunchbull would do when she got into these funny moods, and Jenny had pushed her luck enough as it was.

After getting changed into her pajamas, Jenny laid in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow she would go to Mrs. Hubbard to be taught proper work ethic by a woman she neither knew nor understood. It was a terrifying thought, but also a hopeful one, because no matter what happened she would be away from Aunt Trunchbull's shadow.

And while Jenny laid awake, on the other side of town Angela Hubbard sipped a cup of tea, trying to wash the bitter taste out of her mouth. Trying to reason with Agatha Trunchbull was like trying to reason with a ticking time bomb, and usually had the same result.

But it would be worth all the unpleasantness if she could see Magnus's daughter smile again. Mrs. Hubbard had kept an eye on little Jennifer Honey for years, and was particularly disturbed by the changes she'd seen in the last twelve months. The morning service confirmed what she had long suspected, and she'd be damned if she let Agatha Trunchbull ruin the young girl's life without a fight.


	6. When Jenny Was Eleven

_"So you grew up in that house alone with your aunt," Matilda said. "But you must have gone to school."_

 _"Of course," Miss Honey said. "I went to the same school you're going to now. But I lived at home."_

* * *

 _May_

The year Jenny turned eleven her birthday happened to fall on the last day of school. Aunt Trunchbull demanded that she make a two layered chocolate cake to celebrate the occasion, and for one brief moment Jenny fooled herself into believing that her birthday would be acknowledged for the first time since her father died.

She was wrong, and over the next week Aunt Trunchbull ate the entire cake herself, but not before giving Jenny a black eye for ruining the frosting.

 _June_

It was the hottest summer in recent memory, and without air conditioning Jenny's bedroom on the second floor was stifling. Jenny knew better than to ask for a fan, so she took one of the house's many tin water pitchers to bed with her each night, usually managing to drink the whole thing before morning.

When Aunt Trunchbull found out that Jenny was using one of _her_ pitchers she threw it at Jenny in a fit of rage. After that, Jenny endured the heat in miserable silence.

 _July_

Jenny watched wistfully from her window as firecrackers exploded in the night sky, just visible over the tree line. Aunt Trunchbull disliked the Fourth of July, and Jenny wasn't sure if it was because she was still angry about America's independence from Great Britain or because she hated fun in general.

When the fireworks ended, the only noise was the crickets and cicadas. Lightening bugs danced with one another silently, flashing messages to one another in a language only they understood.

Hugging her Lissy Doll, Jenny crawled back into bed, weaving together a story in her mind about a lightening bug princess who had been kidnapped by a big, fat cricket but was able to use her light to escape back into freedom.

 _August_

Sixth grade was much harder than fifth, if only because Aunt Trunchbull had decided Jenny was a big girl now, and big girls had to earn their keep by doing all the cooking, cleaning, and laundry in the house. Sometimes Jenny was so tired after finishing her chores that she went right to sleep without doing her homework, only proving that she was as lazy and stupid as her aunt said she was.

 _September_

Jenny didn't know how, but one of her classmates found out that not only was she related to the dreaded Miss Trunchbull, but that she lived with her, too. Another kid asked their parents about it, and it was soon spread throughout the whole school that Jenny's father had killed himself. The sudden onslaught of attention - whether sympathetic, malicious, or simply curious in nature - was unwelcome, but Jenny was helpless to stop it.

Not long after that, Jenny decided it was best if she sat alone at lunch.

 _October_

Jenny wondered if this was what drowning felt like. For the first time in her life, she was counting down the days to the holidays. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

 _November_

Aunt Trunchbull and Jenny were invited over to one of the city councilman's house for Thanksgiving dinner. They weren't the only ones, and there were so many people that the children ate at a separate table from the adults. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Jenny wasn't ashamed when she reached for seconds.

 _December_

Jenny didn't get anything for Christmas that year, and a series of snowstorms made it impossible for Aunt Trunchbull to go outside to train. Without being able to let off all that pent-up energy Aunt Trunchbull was more irritable than normal, with Jenny as her favorite target.

Jenny went back to school with a limp, and when her teacher asked what happened she said that she'd slipped on some ice.

 _January_

With the new year came a new classmate. Jenny managed to smile as a heavyset boy with a wide mouth and warm brown eyes slid into the desk next to hers.

"Hi, m'name's Lonnie," he said, as if Jenny hadn't heard the teacher introduce him to everyone just moments earlier.

"I'm Jenny," she replied, blushing a little as he stuck out his hand for her to shake. "We should pay attention. Miss Trunchbull will be observing us later; we can't get into trouble."

Lonnie looked puzzled. "Who's Miss Trunchbull?"

 _February_

It quickly became apparent to everyone in the sixth grade class that Lonnie was not bright nor particularly athletic, making him the perfect target for public ridicule. Many laughed when Miss Trunchbull tried to make him stand on his head after finding a packet of baseball cards hidden in his desk. Once again Jenny became invisible.

She felt awful when he came to school on February 14th with a stack of Valentine cards. Miss Trunchbull of course found them during the morning recess, and Lonnie spent the rest of the day in the Chokey.

"I don't get it," he complained to Jenny the next day, picking at a scratch on his arm caused by one of the Chokey's many nails, spikes, and bits of broken glass. "We always did Valentine's Day at my old school."

 _March_

"Can I sit here?"

Jenny looked up from her lunch in surprise. No one sat next to her. Not ever. But one look at Lonnie's plaintive expression made it clear that he had nowhere else to go.

"Of course," Jenny said, marking her place in her book so she wouldn't look rude.

"Is that the book we're reading for class?" he asked.

Jenny slid it forward, so he could easier see the cover to _Where the Red Fern Grows_. She'd read it once already, but was enjoying reading it again for a school assignment. "Yes."

"I don't get it," Lonnie said simply, talking with his mouth full of green beans. "What's so special about a fern? I like the dogs, though. Do you have a dog?"

"N-no," Jenny stammered.

That was all the excuse it took for Lonnie to launch into a long story about the dog he'd had back at his old home. Not knowing what else to do, Jenny sat and listened.

 _April_

Lonnie sat by Jenny every day at lunch and after a while spent most recesses by her side as well. If given the opportunity he would talk _forever,_ his favorite topic being baseball, and he never seemed to care that Jenny had nothing to contribute to their conversations.

Once Jenny found herself thinking about him at home when she was supposed to be doing chores. When she realized what she was doing, Jenny shook herself to clear her mind. What happened at school had to stay at school, just like what happened at home had to stay hidden from the watching eyes at Cruncham Elementary.

 _May_

School let out a week before her birthday, and Jenny made the mistake of telling that to Lonnie. That morning he approached her before school started, his cheeks flushed with pleasure and a cupcake in his hands.

"For you!" he said happily. "My mom made it, but I did the decoration. She thinks it's stupid we don't have a part on the last day anyway."

Jenny looked at the cursive KC lettered onto the cupcake in blue icing and smiled. "Kansas City Royals?" she asked.

"You remembered!" he said, before gushing about Paul Splittorff, Frank White, and especially George Brett. Jenny knew next to nothing about baseball, but it was something Lonnie liked, so she was willing to learn.

"Anyway, class will be starting soon. You should eat that," Lonnie said with sage-like wisdom. Jenny took a polite nibble, and the façade dropped in favor of a goofy grin. "Is it good?"

"Very good," Jenny affirmed, grateful she'd be able to eat something after being denied breakfast that morning.

"I told my mom I wanted you to come over this summer, but we're going to see my grandparents for a month," Lonnie said apologetically. He twisted his hands anxiously together. "I'm sorry. Maybe when school starts again?"

"Maybe," Jenny echoed, her insides turning to ice. She hadn't been invited to anyone's house since the second grade. How could she explain to Lonnie that they could never be seen together outside of school without hurting his feelings?

Suddenly the bell rang, interrupting Jenny before she could say any more. Lonnie took off for the door at a loping run, giving Jenny the opportunity to throw away the uneaten half of her cupcake without him noticing, one thought consuming her:

 _Aunt Trunchbull could never know_. She'd spent so much time alone that Jenny didn't recognize her friendship for what it was, but she knew that Aunt Trunchbull could never find out. For the sake of one boy she'd find the strength to fight against the tyrannical monster who ruled over every facet of her life, no matter the cost.


	7. When Jenny Was Three

_"My father didn't know that because he was hardly ever around but when he did put in an appearance, the aunt behaved differently."_

~x~

Magnus Honey was an excellent doctor with a thriving medical practice, but for all his knowledge and all his skill, he didn't know how to heal a broken heart.

It was easier at work. There he could lose himself wholly in the task of saving lives. As a general practitioner who split his time between the hospital and the clinic his schedule was a busy one. He didn't know what he would have done if Agatha hadn't agreed to look over Jenny. His late wife's family all still resided in England, and his parents were long-dead. Agatha and Jenny were the only real family Magnus had left, and he needed both of them if he was to live on.

Not that Agatha was sentimental enough for him to say so out loud, or even easy to live with on some days. Neither Agatha nor her step-sister spoke much of their childhood, but Magnus got the impression life had not been kind to the former-Olympian. He could respect her need for routine and regimen, how she used self-control and discipline in every facet of her life in order to compete at the highest level. There were many children came from unstable family dynamics who grew up to become delinquents or worse. Agatha was almost the exact opposite—an example of defiance against what the statistics said she should have become.

But that did not make her softhearted, and that did not make her kind. Magnus remembered Agatha had interacted with Jenny for the first time shortly after she was born. It was like she didn't know what to do with a baby, and it had been the one and only time Magnus had seen Agatha appear uncomfortable. The first days after his wife's death had been…hard. Jenny, as many children did when faced with sudden change, regressed, becoming more needy and emotional than she was wont. Agatha, in her own grief, had been irritable. Snappish. While on bereavement leave Magnus acted as a buffer between the two, while subtly demonstrating the care Jenny needed.

By the time he returned to his practice a new equilibrium had been established, and while the arrangement wasn't perfect it _worked_ , and Magnus came to believe that all was well in the Honey household. At least as well as they could be after the loss of his beloved wife and mother of his child.

Jenny emerged from the ordeal quieter than she had been. She had always been reserved, but a year after her mother's death she was timid. On his days off Magnus did what he could to bring her out of her shell—taking her to zoos, parks, and museums in an attempt to open her up to the wonders that the world held. But over time it felt like for every step forward he slid two steps backward, and by the time Jenny turned three, Magnus wondered if he hadn't lost his daughter along with his wife.

There was only one way Magnus knew how to reach Jenny when she would withdraw into herself, and that was how he found himself late one Friday night after a long and frustrating day at the clinic reaching for the lone storybook that occupied his personal bookshelf.

From the corner of his eye, Magnus saw Jenny's expression brighten. Exactly how the children's book came to occupy the same space of his medical texts and other favored works of literature was lost to the annals of time, but he suspected his late wife had started placing it there as a joke and it stuck.

"I wonder what I should read tonight?" he mused aloud, making a great show of it as he browsed through his collection. " _To Kill a Mockingbird_?"

Jenny didn't respond like Magnus half-hoped she would, but even from across the room he could see her quiver with excitement.

"No, that's much too serious for bed-time reading. _The Pickwick Papers_ , perhaps?"

Jenny clasped her hands over her mouth to keep from shouting out.

"An excellent work, but no, I was thinking…" Magnus plucked the storybook off the shelf, holding it in such a way that the large bumblebee on the cover was clearly visible. "Ah, yes. _The Busy, Busy Bee_. A household favorite, if I remember correctly."

Jenny jumped to her feet and ran to him as fast as her little legs would carry her. Magnus scooped her up one-handed and gave her a peck on the cheek before settling to the couch. Snorting disapprovingly, Agatha retired to her bedroom without so much of a goodnight.

Suppressing a sigh, Magnus balanced Jenny on his knee. He knew he'd have to talk to Agatha someday, but he simply didn't have the energy to deal with her tonight. Not after all she'd done without ever asking anything in return.

"Is Aunt Trunchbull mad, Daddy?" Jenny asked. If Magnus didn't know better, he'd think she sounded afraid.

"Of course not, Bumblebee. Your aunt just…your aunt is a very sad woman."

"Sad?" Jenny echoed, tilting her head back to look at him, confusion crinkling on her brow.

"Your aunt hasn't know much kindness, Bumblebee. It's why she sometimes acts…sharp," Magnus said finally, not quite sure that was the best way to describe Agatha's particularities but unable to think of anything better. "And it's why we must show her love, even if it doesn't always seem like she appreciates it."

The crease between her eyebrows deepened, and Magnus felt compelled to continue, "Actions speak louder than words. Your aunt doesn't always know how to show she cares, but she's come to live with us and helped take care of you for over a year now."

"I'm a big girl," Jenny said matter-of-factly. "I'm three."

Magnus's lips curved into a small smile. "Yes you are."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me," Jenny said. "Aunt Trunchbull doesn't have to live here anymore."

"Jennifer Marie Honey," Magnus said sharply, "I never want you to say that ever again. Do you understand? This is your aunt's home just as much as it is yours."

Jenny flinched, ducking her head so that he could not see her face. Immediately Magnus regretted his tone, and setting the book aside, he wrapped his daughter in a tight hug. At first she stiffened, but after a moment melted into the embrace.

"S-sorry?" she said, clinging to Magnus as if he were a life preserver. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not angry, Bumblebee," Magnus said softly, running his fingers through her blonde hair. "But your Aunt Trunchbull is family, and if you don't have family, what else is there?"

Magnus cradled his daughter for a long time after that, wishing again that his wife were still here. She would know what to say to soothe Jennifer's troubled heart. If only he could understand the cause for her introverted behavior, then maybe he could help her. As it was, Magnus was at a loss.

"Do you want a chocolate?" Magnus whispered in Jenny's ear. She nodded, still not daring to look him in the eye. He reached around for his chocolate box, as always giving her the bigger half before reading his daughter the story of a bumblebee who set out to make a pot of honey.

And while he read, Agatha Trunchbull slunk away from where she'd been eavesdropping, her size belying her guile. Her secret was safe for another day, and when the miserable old fool went back to work Agatha would make sure little Jenny was punished for nearly ruining the plans that were already beginning to stir in the depths of her wicked, wicked heart.


	8. When Jenny Was Twelve Part I

" _What happened when you were left alone with your aunt? Wasn't she nice to you?"_

" _Nice?" Miss Honey said. "She was a demon. As soon as my father was out of the way she became a holy terror. My life was a nightmare."_

~x~

Seventh grade. It was the year that all children of Cruncham Elementary yearned for, the time when they would finally, _finally_ be old enough to leave those cruel, dark halls forever and step into the glorious world that was middle school. There in that mystical world they would be forever out of reach from Miss Trunchbull's wrath. They'd have different teachers for each subject rather than the same one all day long, lockers in which to put their belongings, and the opportunity to go out for sports and other extra-curricular activities. Practically adults in their own right, seventh graders were revered to the young students at Cruncham Elementary.

The dream was tarnished somewhat by the reality, but no matter how difficult or frustrating seventh grade was, there was no Miss Trunchbull patrolling the corridors. There was no Chokey. That was freedom enough.

"No, that's not right. The tides are largest on the full moon because of the extra gravitational pull from the sun," Jenny said patiently. Pushing her lunch tray away, she took Lonnie's science homework and pencil. Flipping the page over to its blank side, she drew a diagram in her precise, neat hand. "See? When the gravitational pull is the greatest, their effect on the tides is at its highest."

"I don't get it!" Lonnie exclaimed, burying his head in his hands. "This is stupid. I don't care about the stupid tides!"

"You'll care when your father doesn't take you to a baseball game because you failed science," Jenny said.

"Slave driver," Lonnie muttered, snatching the paper back and erasing his answers furiously. Jenny's heart skipped a beat. Was she really pushing him too hard? School didn't come easily for Lonnie. All Jenny wanted was for him to do his best, something his parents didn't seem to push him towards.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

Lonnie looked up at her quizzically. "I was just teasing. I'd never pass any of my classes if it weren't for you. You say sorry too much."

"Sorry," Jenny repeated, somehow managing a small smile to show that she was joking, too.

He laughed and turned his attention back to his homework, and Jenny was finally able to relax. A quick glance at the clock showed they had a few more minutes until lunch was over. She would have liked to go over his math homework as well, but there simply wasn't time. Jenny took a bite of her hamburger, chewing slowly. It was hard to remember not to scarf down her food as quickly as she could. Unlike at home, there was no danger of her meal being taken away from her.

They shared a few seconds of comfortable silence, when out of nowhere Opal Hendricks slid into the bench on the opposite side of the table. Jenny and Lonnie usually ate alone, and Opal was popular enough not to be caught dead sitting next to the two outsiders.

"Is that Mrs. Miller's assignment?" Opal asked, peering down at Lonnie's paper curiously.

"Yep."

"You haven't finished it yet? I thought it was really easy." Jenny stiffened as Opal inspected her nails. Opal was one of the smartest girls in the class and a talented volleyball player. She was everything Jenny and Lonnie weren't: popular, athletic, and rich.

She was also very mean. Jenny escaped her gaze by virtue of not being interesting enough to torment, but Lonnie wasn't so lucky.

"Shuddup, Opal," Lonnie snapped. "And go away."

Opal sniffed. "I've just as much right to be here as anyone else. Besides, Ruth had to be sent home," she said, naming her best friend. "Where else was I supposed to go?"

"Sent home?" Jenny echoed. "Was she sick?"

"Ha! She wishes." Opal glanced to see if no one else was watching before leaning forward, as if she were sharing a great conspiracy. "She started her _period_."

"Oh," Jenny said, her cheeks flushing scarlet. " _Oh."_

"Wait, I don't get it. What happened to Ruth?" Lonnie asked.

"It's a girl thing," Opal said dismissively. The bell rang for class, and she rose to her feet and bounded off, no doubt off to tell someone else that Ruth Burrell had started her first period at school. Jenny dumped her tray, feeling grateful for the first time that she'd celebrated that particular milestone of puberty over the summer.

Rejoining with Lonnie, the two set off for science together. Jenny was hopelessly aware that her cheeks were still burning with embarrassment on Ruth's behalf. It seemed terribly rude to spread such a story around the school, especially when it was your best friend who was telling the story.

"D'you think you can help me with math later?" Lonnie asked. "Mr. Henson keeps trying to add letters into it, and it don't make any sense."

"Doesn't make any sense," Jenny corrected reflexively. "Did you get your assignment done for today?"

"Yeah, but I probably got 'em all wrong."

Jenny hummed thoughtfully. "Okay, how about Monday, then?"

"But what about tomorrow?" he said, crestfallen. "Dad says if I get a C in all my classes he'll take me to a game for my birthday!"

Personally Jenny thought that a C was setting the bar rather low, but it wasn't her place to say it. "Mr. Henson doesn't make anyone turn in homework if it's their birthday," she reminded him. "So tomorrow I can help you study for the science test, and Monday we'll work on math. I promise."

"You're the best, Jenny!" Lonnie exclaimed. He wrapped her in a big bear hug before rushing off to his locker.

Jenny stood transfixed by the sudden invasion of her personal space, and her blush came back, redder than ever. Lonnie had never hugged her like that before— _no one_ had ever hugged her like that before—and it made her uncomfortable.

Somewhere behind her, a big, burly eighth grader snickered. "Lonnie and Jenny, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

Completely mortified, Jenny ducked her head and walked as fast as she could without actually running to her next class, clutching her books close to her chest as if they could protect her. She and Lonnie were just friends. It was her classmates that spoke of the difference between liking someone and _like-_ liking them. Dating was a concept so far removed from Jenny's reality it might as well exist in a different universe. Aunt Trunchbull never would have allowed it, and in any case Lonnie was just a friend. Nothing more and nothing less.

Jenny slid into her seat just as the bell rang. She opened her textbook up to the chapter they were studying and pretended to pay attention.

~x~

On Monday, Jenny made sure that she arrived at school earlier than normal. Aunt Trunchbull refused to go out of her way to drop Jenny off in the mornings, so each day Jenny walked the half-mile to and from school. Lonnie, on the other hand, had to come with his mother on her way to work, and so he was often the first one on school grounds.

"Jenny?" he said once he saw her, looking confused. "Why're you here so early?"

"I wanted to give you something," Jenny said breathlessly. "I'm sorry I didn't have it ready for you on Friday."

Jenny handed him a chocolate chip muffin that she'd managed to sneak from the house. Aunt Trunchbull's sweet-tooth was second to none, and it was rare that Jenny was allowed to eat anything with chocolate in it at all ( _much too good for children_ ). Knowing this, Jenny had made thirteen instead of her usual twelve muffins for her aunt's breakfast, praying that Aunt Trunchbull wouldn't notice that they were smaller than usual.

"For your birthday," Jenny said. "I'm sorry it's not a cupcake, and I didn't have any frosting or I would have decorated it…" she allowed her voice to trail off as Lonnie took the muffin from her.

"You remembered," he said, sounding surprised.

"Of course I remembered," Jenny said, a little hurt that he thought she wouldn't. She'd been thinking for months how she could repay him for the kindness he'd shown on _her_ birthday last year. "You're thirteen now."

"Mr. Henson didn't remember," Lonnie said miserably. "I got a zero on my math homework on Friday."

"I'm so sorry. Do you think you could talk to him about it?" Jenny asked.

Lonnie shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. Math's stupid anyway," He beamed at her. "Thanks for the muffin, Jenny. You're the best."

Jenny ducked her head so he wouldn't see her smile.

"Anyway," he continued after taking a large bite, "Dad's gonna take me to a game later this year. Do you think you could come?"

"W-what?"

"I want you to come with me," Lonnie said earnestly. "Mom and Dad have wanted to meet you _forever_ , but you've always got stuff going on. We won't go for a month or so, so you can plan in advance."

It felt like Jenny had been blindsided by a truck. "I-I don't know…"

"I'll ask your aunt if I have to," Lonnie said. That, more than anything, said how much he wanted her to go with him to a baseball game. Lonnie, like any Cruncham student, feared Aunt Trunchbull. "Please? For my birthday?"

"I'll ask. Please, let me ask," she said, her tone dangerously close to begging. She didn't want Lonnie within one hundred yards of her aunt if she could help it.

"Okay. You promise?"

"I…I promise."

Lonnie's smile widened, and after watching him stuff the rest of his muffin in his mouth, Jenny excused herself. She barely made it to the bathroom in time before she threw up her own meager breakfast. A cold sweat began to bead on her brow, and her hands shook so badly she could hardly manage to flush away the evidence of her cowardice.

She promised. She promised Lonnie that she would try to talk Aunt Trunchbull into letting her go to a baseball game with a boy. In doing so, she would break all the rules that she had made for herself separating her home life from her life at school. At best Aunt Trunchbull would say no, without asking too many questions. At worst...

Jenny didn't want to think about it, but as she rose unsteadily to her feet she feared that the worst case scenario was also the most likely outcome. If that were the case, there was much more at stake than a simple baseball game. And that, above all else, terrified her.

* * *

 **AN** : Sorry for the short chapter, but unlike the year that Jenny was fourteen - which I always had planned to split because of length - this chapter had too many scene changes and was becoming muddled. Part II is in the works, but I may have an extra chapter between now and then.

I also had a reviewer say they felt like I was being extremely cruel to Miss Honey and was wanting to know if the story would have a happy ending, and the answer is yes. I've written the last chapter already, and I can say that while it's not quite the "and they lived happily ever after" sunshine and rainbows type of ending from the movie or book, it does end on a positive note.

However, the next several chapters, whether they be Part II to this chapter or the years surrounding Magnus's death, will not be kind to Miss Honey. There's one scene in particular that I felt uncomfortable writing because it's a little more graphic than what I've been presenting up to this point. This is your warning: Bad Things happen to Jenny. It's nothing warranting an M rating and nothing sexual in nature, but we've not hit our lowest point. Not by a long shot.

I think once I finally write Part II to when Jenny was Fourteen I'm going to rearrange the chapters into their chronological order, which should help readers see the progression I'm trying to go for, but until then thanks for putting up with my sporadic updates and disjointed plot. You all are the best.

As always, thanks for your continued support. Your thoughtful reviews spurn me to update faster and write better.


	9. When Jenny Was Four

" _At night, the escapologist's daughter cried herself to sleep. She never said a single word about the evil aunt's bullying, as she didn't want to cause a fuss."_

- _I'm Here_

~x~

By the time Jenny turned four, she realized that there were two sets of rules for her to live by, one for when Daddy was home and one for when he was not. Unfortunately for her, her father was gone the majority of the time, and Aunt Trunchbull seemed to hate her.

Jenny didn't know what she possibly could have done. Perhaps it was when she was so little that she didn't remember. Daddy always said that if you showed someone love and kindness then they would show love and kindness in return. Aunt Trunchbull always told her to shut up and called her a filthy maggot when she tried.

At first Jenny didn't know what a maggot was, and when she asked Daddy he showed her in one of his encyclopedias. Jenny didn't know why Aunt Trunchbull kept saying she was a slimy bug, but even though she didn't like it, Jenny knew better than to ask her to stop. When Aunt Trunchbull was in charge Jenny played a game where she pretended that she was invisible and had to stay very, _very_ quiet or else she would be seen again. Aunt Trunchbull seemed happier during this game, and on the days Jenny remembered to play it she hardly ever got spanked.

Jenny got quite lonely pretending to be invisible all of the time, but being lonesome was better than getting yelled at, assigned chores, or hit. Still, it was _hard_ , and no matter how hard she tried, Jenny always did something bad that made her aunt angry.

"You nincompoop!" Aunt Trunchbull hollered one day when Jenny accidentally dropped her glass of water onto the floor during lunch. "You clumsy fool! Look what you've done!"

"I'm sorry," Jenny whispered, clutching the seat of her chair with both hands so that Aunt Trunchbull couldn't see them shake. Shaking was bad, and would only make Aunt Trunchbull yell more.

"Well don't just sit there! Clean it up!"

Jenny slid off of her chair and carefully stepped around the shards of glass. When Daddy had broken one of his plates while doing the dishes he didn't let Jenny so much as _move_ until he'd picked up all the pieces himself. It was just one more way life was so much better when her father was home, and as she toddled into the kitchen Jenny wished more than ever that he didn't need to be at work all of the time.

The broom was too big for her to use, and Jenny had a hard time holding both it at the dustpan at the same time. Sensing her aunt's growing irritation, Jenny decided it would be faster to pick up the pieces of broken glassware with her hands.

One of the jagged edges sliced her finger. Jenny let out a startled yelp and dropped the glass. A fat drop of dark red blood welled up from the wound and dripped to the floor. _Drip, Drip, Drip_. Jenny hardly noticed. Her finger throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and the sharp pain caused tears to well up in her eyes.

"You stupid _child_!" Aunt Trunchbull snapped, pushing out away from the table, "incapable of picking up the mess that _you_ made! No wonder your father never wants to see you. I wouldn't either, if my own flesh and blood were so pathetic!"

Aunt Trunchbull pulled Jenny's arm harshly and inspected her finger. "It's deep," she said to herself, before smacking Jenny upside the head. "And quit your blubbering. It's just your finger."

But she didn't seem so sure. Aunt Trunchbull wrapped Jenny's finger in a dish towel and ordered her to her room. The last thing Jenny saw before exiting the kitchen was her aunt sweeping the evidence away into the trash, muttering something about hiding the blood.

~x~

Jenny was huddling between her bed and the dresser, trying her very hardest to play her game, when Aunt Trunchbull entered, unannounced and uninvited with a first aid kit in hand. One look of her niece's tear-stained face was all it took to earn a snort of derision.

"Disgusting little sack of snot. Come here."

Jenny hastened to do as she was told. Aunt Trunchbull grabbed her roughly by the arm and stole the bloody towel away. She inspected the cut a second time. It was indeed deep, with a jagged flap of skin covering the worst of it. Aunt Trunchbull opened the first aid kit and took out a roll of gauze and a bottle of iodine.

"Your father would be ashamed of your behavior today," Aunt Trunchbull said. "Not that I blame him. I've never seen such a useless creature in the entirety of my life."

That couldn't be true. When Daddy was home he loved her and held her close. Jenny was never afraid of him like she was he aunt, never felt like she had to pretend like she didn't exist.

"I expect once I tell him he won't come home for a week," Aunt Trunchbull continued blithely.

"I'm sorry!" Jenny said, her voice panicked at the thought of going so long without seeing her father. "Please don't tell. I'll be good, I promise."

"A child, good? Don't make me laugh. What chance does a lying pocket of puss have of being _good_?"

"I'm not lying," Jenny said, hissing in pain as Aunt Trunchbull dabbed a cotton ball soaked in iodine to her finger.

"Says the girl who just asked me to deceive her own father. Now, damnations, _hold still_."

Jenny froze as Aunt Trunchbull covered her finger with gauze, confused and not sure what she was supposed to think. She wasn't a liar, but she wanted Daddy to love her. Jenny's stomach twisted itself into knots, and a fresh wave of tears streaked silently down her face.

"You are nothing but a crybaby," Aunt Trunchbull said cruelly. "A cowardly, pathetic crybaby, detested by her own father. But..." she added, almost as an afterthought, "if your father does abandon you, that means _I_ shall be the one forced to correct your weakness of character, and I'd rather shoot myself than be saddled with you for the rest of my life." She tapped the gauze and gave the surprisingly neat bandage a last going-over.

"For my own sanity, I won't say a word to Magnus, although he'll find out for himself if you're just as incapable of keeping your fat mouth shut as everything else," Aunt Trunchbull decided. "Really, you should be thanking me."

"Thank you, Aunt Trunchbull," Jenny said gratefully. "I promise I'll be good. I promise."

"You'd better." Aunt Trunchbull leaned down until she blurred in Jenny's vision. "Even your father has his breaking point, Jenny. If you keep making these mistakes, I wouldn't be surprised if he goes away forever."

Fear kept Jenny rooted in place until Aunt Trunchbull marched out of her bedroom. All at once her legs turned to jelly and she fell to the floor. She was afraid, so terribly afraid of her father hating her just like her aunt seemed to, but she didn't even know what she had done wrong.

Jenny stayed in her room for the rest of the day, and even though she knew she should be proving how good of a girl she could be by playing her invisible game, all she could do was cry.

~x~

Magnus Honey returned home from another long shift at the hospital. He gave his greetings to Agatha in the living room, noting that she was taking him up on his offer to enjoy the books in his personal library. It was one of the few familial gestures that she seemed to appreciate, and Mangus was surprised to find how much she liked reading Dickens. Tonight Agatha was engrossed in _Nicholas Nickleby_ , and it seemed prudent not to bother her.

He climbed the steps up to his daughter's room as quietly as he could, while half-hoping that she would come out to greet him. It was late—well past Jenny's bedtime—but sometimes the creaking of the old stairs woke her. Tonight was not one of those nights, and he had to settle for looking in on her from the doorway to her bedroom.

The shades to her window were open, allowing the moonlight to stream into the room and illuminate the slumbering figure of his daughter. He listened to her breathe, unconsciously counting the respirations until he was satisfied that all was well.

"Good night, Bumblebee," he whispered, slowly closing the door once more. Magnus wished he didn't have to be back at work so early in the morning so he could see her before he left, but one of the doctors at the hospital was on vacation and another on emergency medical leave. Until they returned, he would have to help pick up the slack, just like his colleagues he done for him after his wife's death.

"I love you."

And when the door clicked shut, Jenny squeezed her eyes even tighter to keep herself from crying. He finger ached, but that was nothing compared to the feeling in her ravaged heart. Someday she would be good enough for her father, but until that time she resolved to suffer the unfair hardship of her life alone, and in silence.


	10. When Jenny was Twelve Part II

**AN:** The abuse in this chapter is more graphic than what I've presented thus far. While I feel like it still remains within the T rating, I acknowledge that the line is blurred. Keeping in mind that I've not written Magnus's death yet, I can say with nearly 100% certainty that this is the most graphic _Broken_ will get, and I will say with 100% certainty that the abuse shown is necessary for the story I'm trying to tell. It's not meant for shock factor or to be edgy. There is a point, but before a character can be rebuilt they must be thoroughly deconstructed.

You have been warned.

* * *

" _What did she do to you?" Matilda asked._

" _I don't want to talk about it," Miss Honey said. "It's too horrible."_

~x~

Jenny spent the rest of the day coming up with a plan of attack and the next two gathering the courage to enact it. If Lonnie noticed that she was even quieter than normal he didn't mention it, and Jenny was eternally grateful for his understanding. Over half her life had been spent bending over backwards in an attempt to appease her aunt, and while Jenny was rarely successful she never did anything that she thought might make her life more difficult. Going out with Lonnie—even if accompanied by his parents—felt dangerously like rebellion. No one knew better than Jenny how her aunt dealt with rebellious children.

If she were to have any chance of success she would have to ask when Aunt Trunchbull was in a good mood. After finally deciding to go through with her request, Jenny spent an entire afternoon cleaning the house top to bottom while Aunt Trunchbull was still at work, skiving off her homework to do so. She'd gotten used to such chores over the last two years, but never all at once. By the time she was ready to start supper Jenny's slender shoulders ached, and her hands were raw and chapped from scrubbing.

Gritting her teeth in determination, Jenny plowed onward. Lonnie was the only friend she'd ever had, the only friend she was _likely_ to have. He never made her feel worthless, and when they were together Jenny could almost forget how terrible her situation really was. She owed him so much, and though she knew she could never repay the kindness he'd given her, she could at least do this.

The meal consisted of broiled strip steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans—relatively simple but hearty, with the added benefit of being one of her aunt's favorites. Jenny had done a two-layer chocolate cake the night before that she could serve as dessert. Hopefully it would be enough to make a difference.

"What's all this for?" Aunt Trunchbull asked once she came home, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"N-nothing, Aunt Trunchbull," Jenny stammered. She clutched her hands behind her back to keep from wringing them, praying that her anxiety wasn't _too_ obvious.

"Hmph." Aunt Trunchbull sat down at the table, somehow making even that appear menacing. "Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry up and serve!"

Jenny hastened to do as she was bid, making sure her aunt had a generous portion while taking little for herself. Aunt Trunchbull didn't starve her, exactly, but the snide comments she made when Jenny reached for seconds made the girl feel more self-conscious than she already was. Tonight had to be perfect; spending an evening hungry would be worth it if she could just do this one thing.

"H-how was work?" Jenny asked, trying to fill the suffocating silence that pervaded through the dining room.

Aunt Trunchbull let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a snort. " _Miserable_. Brats these days, wouldn't know the meaning of discipline if it walked up and kicked them in the ass. It never would have been allowed in my day. The whole system is rubbish. Bring back the rod, I say, bring back the stocks and the irons. That'd sort the little hellions out soon enough."

Trying to push back the mental image what her aunt would do if she were actually allowed to _beat_ the children in her care, Jenny said, "Surely the Chokey would, er, sort them out?"

Aunt Trunchbull set her knife and fork down and studied Jenny carefully. "You're very inquisitive tonight, maggot. I thought I taught you that children were to be seen and not heard."

"I'm just…just curious about your method," Jenny said quickly as her heart began to race. "I heard one of the teachers say that the students who come from Cruncham Elementary are better behaved than any other school they knew. Y-you talk about discipline a lot, but don't other schools discipline their students?"

The lie did its trick, and Aunt Trunchbull resumed eating. "Those bleeding hearts? Ha! As if writing lines or detention accomplishes anything—and don't get me started on suspensions! If anything, the system _rewards_ the little criminals for misbehavior. I won't stand for it, not in my school. You've got to make the lesson _stick_." She stabbed her meat as she emphasized the word.

"Nothing good was ever accomplished without a little blood, sweat, and tears shed along the way," Aunt Trunchbull said, her smile widening at Jenny's obvious discomfort. "Now hurry up and get me a piece of cake!"

Head spinning from the rapid change of subject matter, Jenny did as she was told before spending the rest of the meal in silence. This actually worked in her favor as Aunt Trunchbull, apparently feeling nostalgic, decided to regale tales of difficult students she had dealt with in the past. The memory of humiliating small children seemed to brighten her mood, although Jenny sincerely hoped that she was exaggerating.

As supper drew to a close Jenny took an enormous risk fetching her aunt a glass of brandy without being asked. Aunt Trunchbull wasn't much of a drinker and only partook during holidays, special occasions, or when she was in an exceptionally good mood. Jenny hoped the alcohol would induce some sort of Pavlovian response and bring out her aunt's better nature, or at least loosen her inhibitions.

Jenny watched anxiously as Aunt Trunchbull held the glass a shade longer than normal, before shrugging her massive shoulders. "To discipline!" she said jovially, drinking the entire thing in one gulp and gesturing for another.

"To discipline," Jenny echoed quietly. She refilled the tumbler and put the brandy away. She wanted Aunt Trunchbull relaxed, not drunk. Out of the corner of her eye, Jenny watched her aunt settle back contentedly in her chair, nursing her drink. It was the calmest Jenny had seen her all week, and there would be no better time than now to make good on her promise to Lonnie.

"Um, Aunt Trunchbull?" Jenny said.

"Oh, for God's sake, do you never shut up?" Aunt Trunchbull said, although her voice lacked any real malice. "What do you want?"

"I…I've been…" Jenny's courage flagged, and she swallowed loudly. _For Lonnie,_ she reminded herself. _Remember you're doing this for Lonnie._ Somewhere she found the strength to look her aunt right in the eye. "I've been invited out."

Aunt Trunchbull froze, her glass halfway to her lips. "What?"

"I've been invited to a baseball game later in the summer," Jenny said, quavering only a little. "And…well, s-sports require discipline, and…" her voice trailed off as her aunt set down her glass, the tendons on the back of her hands visibly protruding.

"I…I thought it would be good to learn."

" _Participating_ insports requires discipline," Aunt Trunchbull said. "Watching them takes all the effort of a tick sucking the blood off a mangy dog. Who invited you to this nonsense?"

"Just one of my classmates…"

" _Which_ classmate?" Aunt Trunchbull demanded.

Jenny wished she could lie so badly that it hurt. But even if she thought she could get away with it, she had no other friends, no one else that she could even pretend liked her enough to want to spend time with her.

"His name is Lonnie," Jenny said.

"Lonnie…? You mean Laurence Thompson?" Aunt Trunchbull said.

"Y-yes, Aunt Trunchbull."

Aunt Trunchbull's eyes bulged and her face flushed scarlet as she swelled up like an over-inflated balloon. Jenny cringed, waiting for the moment when her temper would finally burst.

Instead her aunt took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. She fixed Jenny with a glare that was stony hard, her black eyes colder than the Northern Sea. "Well," she said in a clipped tone, "we shall see about that. Bring me the phone book."

"I-I'll tell him you said no," Jenny said. "You don't have to call—"

"I said _bring me the phone book_."

Jenny almost ran out of the dining room. A part of her contemplated calling Lonnie herself, but she quickly quashed that thought. She didn't know his number, and she couldn't have managed it without Aunt Trunchbull noticing. There was no choice but let her aunt have her way.

Feeling utterly powerless, Jenny brought the phone book back to Aunt Trunchbull and stood with her hands clenched into fists to keep them from shaking as her aunt made a great show of flipping through the pages.

"I remember Laurence quite well," Aunt Trunchbull said conversationally. "Why am I not surprised that you would keep company with that filth? Ah, yes, here we are, Mr. Theodore Thompson. I recall having a _stimulating_ conversation with him after his good-for-nothing son ran home telling outrageous tales."

It was like someone had reached inside Jenny and squeezed all of the air out of her lungs. She could hardly breathe, let alone ask what her aunt planned to do next.

"314 West Maple Street," Aunt Trunchbull continued. "A bit of a drive, I'll admit, but if the blight isn't eradicated immediately who knows how far it'll spread."

"You're going to his _house_?" Jenny asked, horrified.

A smirk cut across Aunt Trunchbull's face and she grabbed Jenny by the nape of the neck. "Yes, and you're coming with me."

~x~

Jenny spent the drive to Lonnie's home wondering how things could have gone so wrong so quickly. She never thought in a million years that Aunt Trunchbull would do something like this. Somehow, Jenny had underestimated her aunt, and now she was going to pay the price.

Aunt Trunchbull pulled into the driveway of a small, squat house with a slightly overgrown lawn. She cut the ignition, and Jenny would have sworn she could hear the beating of her own heart.

"Out," Aunt Trunchbull commanded.

Reluctantly Jenny unbuckled her seatbelt and exited the car. Aunt Trunchbull's vice-like grip clasped around her shoulder and frog-marched to the door. She rapped sharply before settling back with militaristic rigidity.

A woman came to the door with a confused look on her face. She had Lonnie's wide mouth, with strands of silver threading her dark hair and laugh lines crinkling at the corner of her eyes.

"Good evening. May I help you?" she asked.

"Hello. Mrs. Thompson, I presume?" Aunt Trunchbull said.

"Yes…and you're that Trunchbull woman, aren't you? I remember you from last year," Lonnie's mother squinted her eyes, and her gaze flickered to Jenny. "And you must be Jenny! Lonnie's spoken so much about you! Come in, come in."

Mrs. Thompson opened the door and allowed them inside her home, patting Jenny fondly on the head as she passed. The contact made Jenny flinch, and her stomach did a summersault when Lonnie peered his head around the corner.

"Jenny?" he asked, and a humongous grin spread across his face. "Didja ask? Why didn't you call before coming over?"

"Yes, I would have had something ready," his mother said, gently scolding. She grabbed a handful of newspaper off of the living room couch where she had been clipping coupons and gestured for them to sit. "Could I get you a glass of water? Or milk, maybe? I did up a batch of my grandmother's gingersnap cookies. I don't like to brag, but I think they came out quite nicely. Didn't they, dear?"

"Yep," Lonnie said, bobbing his head in agreement. "Maybe you could give Jenny the recipe. She's real good at baking, too."

"No, thank you. I plan for this to be a quick visit," Aunt Trunchbull said, giving Jenny a glare that made her wilt. "I was told this evening that my niece has been invited to a...baseball game." Her nose crinkled in distaste. "Is this true?"

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Thompson said. "It was Ted's idea. He'd be able to tell you more if he were home, but they've moved him to the night shift at the factory. I don't know much about the game myself, never saw the point of sports."

"Obviously," Aunt Trunchbull said, lip curling as she gave a once-over to Mrs. Thompson's rotund frame. "Well, I'm here to tell you Jennifer shan't be going."

"Oh, it's nothing but a bit of fun," Mrs. Thompson protested. "Lonnie's told us so much about little Jenny here, and we're so glad how she's been helping him with his school work. I assure you Ted will be there for the entire date."

"Mom!" Lonnie yelped, jumping suddenly to his feet while Jenny felt the blood drain out of her face.

"Sorry, sorry," Mrs. Thompson laughed. She winked conspicuously to Aunt Trunchbull. "I made him promise not to have a girlfriend until he was at least sixteen, and he's always been so good about minding his mother."

Aunt Trunchbull glared at her in stony silence, deflating some of Mrs. Thompson's enthusiasm. Jenny could _feel_ her aunt shaking with the effort it took to keep calm, but when she spoke each word was icy cold. "I don't think you understand," she said frigidly. "In fact, I think you incapable of understanding. So long as Jennifer lives under my roof she will not go anywhere with your son. Because of his influence, she has lied to me, stolen from the very house she lives in, and conspired against my authority. I am convinced that what I've discovered tonight is but the tip of a foul, rebellious iceberg, and it is well within my rights as her guardian to ground her immediately and indefinitely."

"But Miss Trunchbull…" Lonnie protested.

" _Silence_!" Aunt Trunchbull commanded. "I don't know what role you played in this, but I came here tonight to tell you that it ends immediately. I've spent too long weeding out Jennifer's delinquent nature for you to sow the seed of dissention and malcontent!" She jerked on Jenny's arm harshly. "Get up. We're leaving."

"Wait just a minute," Mrs. Thompson said, twin spots of color on her cheeks. "I don't know what your problem is, but you have no right to speak to my son that way!"

"The problem, Mrs. Thompson, is that since her father's suicide Jennifer has shown herself to be unstable and easily persuaded into risky behavior. Without a firm hand guiding her, she's destined to meet the same end. I am responsible for her wellbeing, and it is obvious that this…this _date_ will undo nearly seven years of progress. Now, if you'll excuse us, I must bid you goodnight. Don't bother getting up. I'm more than capable of seeing myself out."

~x~

More than once in her young life Jenny had found herself wondering if there would come a time when she would die by Aunt Trunchbull's hand. It was easy to imagine not being treated in time after a too-forceful blow, or her aunt locking her in the cellar and forgetting her there. Despite her overactive and at times morbid imagination, never did she think there would come a time when her aunt would murder her on purpose.

During the entire ride home, Jenny was sure that Aunt Trunchbull was going to kill her.

"Inside," Aunt Trunchbull said once they returned to the Red House, her voice like steel.

Jenny couldn't muster a response as she rushed to do as she was told. On their way inside, Aunt Trunchbull paused to grab her riding crop. She pushed Jenny into the living room near the fireplace, and Jenny was grateful that it was late enough in the year that no blaze was going. Jenny cowered as close to the wall as she could while Aunt Trunchbull paced back and forth, tapping her riding crop in her hand.

"I thought it would be another year or two yet before we had this conversation," she began, "but once again, your deceitful nature shows itself prematurely. Stand up straight! You look like an abandoned dog."

Jenny tried to do what she was told, but she was so afraid that she felt like finding a deserted hole and hiding in it forever.

"Pathetic," Aunt Trunchbull muttered. "Completely pathetic. How long have you been talking to that boy?"

"I-I don't know…"

Quick as a snake, Aunt Trunchbull spun around and hit her riding crop against the wall, a hair-breadth from Jenny's face. Jenny flinched away from it, but there was no escape as Aunt Trunchbull leaned in closer and grabbed the front of her shirt. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," she snarled. "Whichever you choose, I will have answers, and I will have them tonight. How long?!"

"A-A year," Jenny gasped. "M-maybe a l-l-little longer."

"A year, she says. A bloody year! You, the festering puddle of puke who's frightened of her own shadow, had the audacity to defy _me_ for an entire year!" Aunt Trunchbull drew back suddenly, outwardly calm, though Jenny could see the storm raging in her eyes.

"I should have expected this. I should have remembered that little girls take longer to break than little boys. Upstairs, bedroom. _Now_."

"What…?"

Jenny's head snapped back as the sting of the riding crop struck her cheek, hard enough to make Aunt Trunchbull's opinion known, but not hard enough to leave a lasting mark. Jenny shuffled upstairs to her bedroom, risking fugitive glances to her aunt's hulking figure. Could she make it to the front door in time? Could she possibly escape whatever hell Aunt Trunchbull was about to put her through? She knew where Lonnie lived now, and his mother seemed nice. Maybe she would let Jenny stay…

"Hurry up, maggot! I haven't got all night!"

No. There was no escape. There never was.

Once they reached Jenny's bedroom, Aunt Trunchbull grabbed a fistful of Jenny's hair and drug her over to the large vanity. The full-length mirror had once belonged to Jenny's paternal grandmother, and the beautiful carved wood made it Jenny's favorite piece of furniture in the entire house. Aunt Trunchbull easily could have taken it to herself, but she held it in distain, saying a vanity was only for the vain.

With one swoop of the arms, Aunt Trunchbull swept all of Jenny's curios onto the floor and planted her dead center in front of the mirror. "Just as a maggot must cocoon itself before it can transition into a fly, every child goes through a period of transition before adolescence in which they foolishly believe that they are mature enough to be considered an adult."

Jenny wasn't entirely sure if maggots made cocoons, but it seemed safest to nod anyway.

"Ideas begin to dart through their dull little brains. Rebellious, stupid ideas that if not corrected immediately will evolve into dangerous notions that eventually lead to the reckless behavior so often seen in teenagers. Once fully developed, these behaviors are almost impossible to derail, leading them to become gangsters, thugs, and low-life criminals suited for nothing but a life behind bars. And all of this could be prevented by refusing to coddle the half-wits when they're small enough to squash beneath your feet!"

Without warning, Aunt Trunchbull ripped Jenny's shirt off of her back. She gasped, suddenly exposed, and tried to cover herself with her hands, but Aunt Trunchbull was able to manhandle her into submission, grabbing Jenny's torso with one arm while pulling her pants down over her hips with the other.

Aunt Trunchbull had not seen her naked for years, and Jenny's newly developed sense of modesty drove her to fight back against the hold. A backhanded slap across the face caused Jenny's glasses to fall off of her face and startled her into being still for only a moment. That was all Aunt Trunchbull needed to turn her around so that she was looking at herself in the mirror.

"Girls in particular," she panted, a crazed look dancing in her eyes, "seem to believe in the ridiculous notion of _love_ , that Prince Charming will come riding on a white horse and whisk them off to the fairytale land of happily ever after. They are _blind_ , just as you are! Boys are after one thing, Jenny, and I can assure you that it's not love!"

Jenny stifled a sob as her aunt shook her viciously. "Just look at this," Aunt Trunchbull spat. "What sort of person would find _this_ to be attractive?"

Jenny forced herself to look into the full-length mirror. One skinny arm covered her bare chest, while the other tried vainly to hide her most private of places. Cold and disgust made her convulse violently, but no matter how she slumped her shoulders or crossed her legs she could not hide her shame. This was vile. _She_ was vile for being unable to stop it. Jenny could not stand to see her terrified, useless figure for more than a few seconds before she dropped her gaze.

"I said _look_!" her aunt snarled, grabbing Jenny's arms and pulling them by her side. The pain of Aunt Trunchbull's iron grip was nothing compared to the twisting horror in her stomach. Her aunt's touch made Jenny's skin crawl, and it was all she could do to keep from throwing up.

"Why in the name of God would anybody want _this_?"

Again, Jenny looked at herself. A plain round face hid behind strands of greasy brown hair, doing nothing to compliment an underfed, gangly body that had none of the desired curves. An unsightly thatch of curly, dark hair had begun to grow between her legs, only adding to her ugliness. Unhealthily pale skin was marked with bruises on her biceps and shoulders where Aunt Trunchbull liked to grab most. Although she could not see it in the mirror, Jenny could not forget the small scar on her right index finger from where she'd cut herself on a broken piece of glass all those years ago.

"They wouldn't," she whispered as her vision went blurry.

"Speak up! I can't hear your infernal mumbling!"

"They…they wouldn't," Jenny said, voice cracking as tears slid down her face.

"They wouldn't," agreed Aunt Trunchbull, lips curling into a cruel smile. "Which begs the question, why would this particular boy want you?"

"He doesn't…"

" _Silence!_ What possible reason would any male be interested in _you_ unless you threw yourself at them?"

"I-I haven't…"

"Did you like it, Jen? Are you so pathetically desperate that you would spread your legs for every hormone-addled nymphomaniac who gives you a second glance?" Aunt Trunchbull leaned down and hissed in her ear, "At least a whore is paid. I raised you better than this. You are contemptible, Jennifer Honey, and you will pay for tarnishing my good name."

"I haven't done anything!" Jenny cried.

The grip on her arms tightened. "Even if you haven't, you were going to. It was only a matter of time. I saw how you looked at that boy. Do you actually think he _loves_ you?"

Jenny remembered how Lonnie had smiled at her that night and thought maybe, just maybe, he did.

"Well he does _not!_ And do you know why that is, Jenny? It's because you are unlovable. I've never seen such a worthless, _pathetic_ child, and let me tell you, I have had the misfortune of instructing hundreds of miserable brats in my lifetime. But you? You take the cake. You are the Queen of Cowardice, the Duchess of Dimwits, the Patron Saint of Stupidity." Aunt Trunchbull threw Jenny to the ground in disgust.

" _Why_ in God's great name do you think anyone could ever love _you?!_ " Aunt Trunchbull shouted, practically frothing at the mouth with rage. When Jenny didn't answer, she kicked her niece savagely in the ribs. "Answer me! I will not be disrespected by the likes of _you_!"

Pain exploded in Jenny's side, and she felt something pop. The blow left her gasping for air and unable to do as she was commanded. Further incised by this slight, Aunt Trunchbull lashed out again and again. It was all Jenny could do to curl her naked form into a tiny ball and protect her head with her hands.

As the beating continued, Aunt Trunchbull launched into a vicious diatribe explaining point by point all the reasons Jenny was not and would never be loved. The words somehow hurt worse than the blows, because Jenny knew it was all _true_. Lonnie didn't love her. Lonnie didn't even _like_ her. He was simply using her, and Jenny was allowing herself to be used. This proved she was a fool—a weak, desperate fool who would give up the illusion of self-respect for a bit of attention.

She was, in a word, pathetic, and it was Aunt Trunchbull's duty to put a stop to whatever nonsense she had deluded herself with.

"You _will_ break off relations with this boy," Aunt Trunchbull spat. "Or I will be forced to take matters into my own hands. Do you understand?"

The thought of Aunt Trunchbull getting anywhere near Lonnie terrified her, but Jenny couldn't answer fast enough. Aunt Trunchbull grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

"I said _do you understand?!_ "

"Y-yes, Aunt Trunchbull," Jenny gasped. With a final snort of derision, she was thrown against her bed and allowed to slump to the ground.

"I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if I hear of you speaking to one another again," Aunt Trunchbull said dangerously. "Now get yourself cleaned up and go to bed. I expect you to make me breakfast in the morning."

~x~

In spite of the growing heat, the next day Jenny opted to wear pants and a long-sleeve shirt to school. She was grateful she did not have gym, or else she would have been forced to cut class to keep the lurid purple bruises that peppered her arms hidden. The pain in her side made it nearly impossible to take deep breaths, but if she moved slowly and carefully, doing everything in her power not to be jostled as she walked up and down the hallways, she could pretend that she was okay.

Aunt Trunchbull had the foresight not to hit her face hard enough to leave a mark. Jenny didn't understand how her aunt could fly into such rages and still control herself enough to make sure she wasn't caught. At least if she'd left a black eye Jenny would have deluded herself into thinking she had a friend for a few days longer.

"Hey, Jenny, are you okay?" Lonnie asked in his usual, slow way. It was the last recess of the day, and it was a minor miracle she'd been able to avoid him that long, although she'd been forced to spend lunch in the girl's bathroom to manage it. "You don't look so good. Are you getting sick?"

"No," Jenny breathed. She couldn't stand to look at his earnest face, so she focused her gaze on a crack in the ground, wishing it would open up and swallow her whole.

"Oh. I missed you at lunch today. I'm sorry about last night. You shoulda seen my mom once your aunt left. I've never seen her so mad."

Jenny almost made the mistake of saying _I missed you, too_ , but managed to stop herself in time. "I should go."

"Why?" The plaintive question cut her to the core, and Jenny's eyes misted over. She blinked furiously to clear her vision. She didn't cry anymore, not unless she was safely alone where no one could criticize her weakness. "I brought my baseball cards," Lonnie said. "I wanted to show you even if you can't come with me. I got one of George Brett my dad says might be worth a lot of money someday."

"I can't," Jenny said miserably. "Lonnie, I can't be friends with you anymore."

The silence was deafening. Finally Jenny worked up enough courage to look at him. Confusion and betrayal warred for purchase on his face as he stared at her slack-jawed. It was clear he didn't comprehend what she was saying, and Jenny felt like the worst person in the world for hurting him like this.

"But…but you sit by me at lunch. You help me with my homework when everyone else just calls me stupid. You remembered my birthday when even the teacher forgot."

"I'm sorry," Jenny whispered hoarsely. He didn't deserve this. Maybe he didn't love her, but it was clear by his expression that he cared for her a great deal. Jenny wished she could explain, but of course she could not. Lonnie was a kind, simple soul, but he was not bright. Even if Jenny thought he could understand the decision was Aunt Trunchbull's, she couldn't trust him to keep quiet. His innocence was too far removed from the reality that Jenny lived.

Finally Lonnie seemed to realize what Jenny was saying. His cheeks flushed bright red with anger, and hurt tears filled his eyes. "I thought you were my friend!" he shouted, before pushing Jenny hard enough that she fell to the ground.

Jenny landed awkwardly on her injured ribs, and had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. Even so, one of their classmates saw what had happened. Someone shouted that they were going to get the teacher, and before Jenny knew what was going on, Lonnie was being escorted to the principal's office, where he would surely be punished for fighting on school grounds.

Jenny clutched her side as Ruth Burrell helped her sit up. She tried to blink away her blurred vision, not realizing until Opal Hendricks handed over her glasses that they had been knocked off her face. With shaking hands, Jenny took them, but even then the world was fuzzy. She didn't want to cry, but she couldn't stop a tear from streaking down her face, and once one got loose there was no stopping the rest.

"You can stay with us, if you want," Ruth offered. "Stupid Lonnie Thompson's nothing more than a big bully. I hope he gets detention."

"I wish he'd get the Chokey, but they don't have one here," Opal sniffed disapprovingly. "I don't get why you hang out with him."

This was too much. Jenny pulled herself away and rushed to the other side of the playground. There was a small spot between two buildings where older students sometimes snuck cigarettes, just big enough for one or two people to hide. Jenny stayed there until the bell rang, weeping bitterly. Her bruised side ached, but that was nothing compared to the hurt on the inside.

Books spoke of being heartbroken, but it felt like hers had been shattered, ripped out of her chest, and then trodden on for good measure. Jenny was sure it would never be made whole again, and it was her own fault. What she said to Lonnie had been cruel, no better than the awful rhetoric Aunt Trunchbull spouted at her on a daily basis. Jenny knew what, and she had spoken the words anyway.

It was no wonder everyone hated her, and when she realized she would be eating lunch alone once more, Jenny began to hate herself.


	11. When Jenny Was Thirteen

_"It's just...pathetic"_

-Miss Honey "Pathetic"

~x~

Thirteen was a difficult age for many girls, but most children had friends and family to support them as they walked the tightrope between childhood and adolescence. Jenny had no one, and after the night Aunt Trunchbull forcibly stripped her of both her clothes and the last shreds of her dignity had developed an aversion to looking at herself in the mirror. She was unhappy with the way her body was changing against her will, and was utterly convinced that puberty was part of God's curse on fallen man.

At school she faded into the background, too unnoticeable for even the bullies. Schoolwork was an additional burden on her already impossible workload, and though she always did her best to finish her assignments on time, if forced to choose between obeying her aunt or her teachers, Jenny always chose the former.

She didn't understand how her peers could be so carefree. _Fun_ was a foreign concept, as was happiness, self-respect, and love. Books were her only escape from the ugliness she felt inside and out. The fantastical adventure stories she read as a girl became too unrealistic for her tastes (for no one knew better than Jenny that stories rarely ever ended with _and then they lived_ _happily ever after_ ) so she turned to the realm of nonfiction instead. She read about Anne Sullivan, Mother Teresa, Mahatma Gandhi, and countless others—men and women who overcame incredible adversity and dared to change the world.

This reprieve was temporary at best, for their strength only reminded her of her own weakness. It was a vicious downward spiral that Jenny felt helpless to stop, and one night after a particularly mean-spirited tongue lashing from her aunt it occurred to her that she would be better off dead.

It was the first time Jenny thought about killing herself, but it certainly would not be the last.


	12. When Jenny Was Fourteen Part II

_"I choose looks and you choose books," Mrs. Wormwood said. "And which of us finished better off?"_

~x~

Jenny woke up the next morning heart pounding and drenched in her own sweat. Her alarm told her it was a quarter till six, and the soft, pre-dawn light creeping into her room told her it was time to get up. Aunt Trunchbull would be abed for another hour or so, and that was all the time Jenny had to bury the panic brought on by yet another nightmare and prepare for her meeting with Mrs. Hubbard.

Quiet as a rabbit trying not to draw attention from a hungry wolf, Jenny slunk to the bathroom to wash her face. Another ten, agonizing minutes was spent fretting over what to wear before settling on a shabby pair of old shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt—both suitable for grubbing around in the dirt. The air was thick with the promise of rain, but the meteorologists, almanacs, astrologers, and arthritic old women all said that the thunderstorms weren't supposed to roll in until late in the evening, giving Jenny plenty of time to get to Mrs. Hubbard's and back. In seconds the clothes were sticking to her skin, and she had to pull her hair up into a tail to keep from feeling completely disgusting in the suffocating humidity.

It would be miserable trying to work outside. Jenny had resigned herself to her fate, but now she wished there was a way to get out of seeing Mrs. Hubbard. Already she could hear Aunt Trunchbull going off on how hard work built character, and how no one needed character more than poor, pathetic little Jennifer Honey. Complaining would only give her aunt more satisfaction, and Jenny was tired of being berated over every little thing. It was just easier to do as she was told.

Wearily Jenny descended down the stairs to begin breakfast. It was going to be another long, hard day, and she didn't want to make it worse by going out on an empty stomach.

~x~

As soon as Jenny stepped out of the house she knew that the meteorologists, almanacs, astrologers, and arthritic old women were wrong. Dark, angry thunderheads were rolling into town from the west, and as Jenny took off at a brisk walk thunder rumbled through the street. Aunt Trunchbull was already gone—out to get in at least part of a training session in before the rain. She had taken the house's one umbrella with her.

Jenny had waited as long as she could for Mrs. Hubbard to reschedule, but the phone never rang. Jenny knew that if she took it upon herself to call that Aunt Trunchbull would be furious. Besides, Mrs. Hubbard had said something hurting her knee. Maybe she needed help inside the house as well as out.

Jenny made good time. She took a shortcut through the grounds of Cruncham Elementary, slinking through the foreboding, dusty playground like an imposter. Jenny ducked her head as wind gusts blew her hair in her face, and unease twisted within her. She'd been judged by this place once already and was found wanting. There was no reason for her ever to enter those walls ever again.

The nerves continued even after exiting the school grounds. An overwhelming sense of failure overcame Jenny as the first drop of rain fell on her head. Jenny didn't need Aunt Trunchbull to tell her how stupid she'd been for trying to avoid this meeting while hurrying the last quarter of a mile, trying to avoid the worst of it.

The heavens finally opened up about a block from Mrs. Hubbard's house. Sheets of rain fell, soaking through her clothes in seconds and making it almost impossible to see out of her glasses. Jenny ran under the branches of a tree that spilled over from Mrs. Hubbard's neighbor's property and above the sidewalk. Jenny shook the water from her eyes and contemplated what she should do. Already she could feel the embarrassment of knocking on Mrs. Hubbard's door in her current state. She would be useless for any sort of labor, and more likely than not Mrs. Hubbard would simply send her home.

Whether she went to the door or not, Aunt Trunchbull would probably be back by the time Jenny returned home. Either way, Aunt Trunchbull would be angry at her foolishness. The question was which would make her angrier, coming to Mrs. Hubbard's door pathetic and soaked to the bone or not showing up at all. Both options reflected poorly on her aunt and probably counted as the "insolence" that Jenny was supposed to avoid.

Trembling, Jenny huddled closer to the fence that separated the neighbor's property from the street. She was cold and afraid and didn't want to see her aunt for as long as possible. If Mrs. Hubbard was anything like Aunt Trunchbull she would at least put up a façade of politeness, and Aunt Trunchbull surely would have made it clear that _she_ was the one in charge of this conspiracy to make Jenny work harder. No, Jenny didn't think it was Mrs. Hubbard's reaction that she had to worry about.

Decision made, Jenny took a tentative step forward. Mrs. Hubbard lived in an old Victorian-style house near the edge of town. There was no fence or hedge to close off the view of her gardens from passersby, only a simple wrought-iron arch over the path leading to the front door. The streets were empty, everyone with a bit of sense choosing to stay inside until the summer storm played itself out. Despite the steady drum beat of the rain pounding against the ground the world seemed quiet, and when Jenny took a deep breath to steady herself there was the fresh smell of the earth opening up to receive the much-needed moisture.

Light shone from behind drawn curtains, and Jenny's last hope that no one was home shriveled away. She raised her hand to ring the doorbell, finger hovering over the small button as she gathered every scrap of her shredded courage. It was just a door. How could she be so pathetic to be afraid of a _door_?

The chagrin of her own cowardice gave her the strength to finally press the doorbell. There was a flash of lightening, and thunder cracked overhead, almost drowning out the sound of someone approaching the door from the other side.

Jenny stood up as straight as she could as Mrs. Hubbard opened the door. For the first time in Jenny's recollection, the woman appeared dumbstruck. "Jen? What in the…? Did you _walk_ all the way out here?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good grief. What in the world was Agatha thinking?" Thankfully Mrs. Hubbard didn't seem to expect an answer as she stepped aside. "Well don't just stand there, come inside and get yourself dried off. You must be freezing."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

Jenny stepped into the small entranceway while Mrs. Hubbard disappeared farther into the house, saying something about getting her something to dry off with. The house was open and inviting, the hardwood floors clean and the faded wallpaper charmingly out of style.

"Well don't just stand there," Mrs. Hubbard called. "Come inside!"

"I'll get everything wet," Jenny said.

"Everything will dry!" Mrs. Hubbard laughed. She returned to the entranceway and threw Jenny a towel. "Do you like tea?"

"Yes, please."

Jenny stepped out of her shoes and peeled off her soaked socks before scrubbing herself as dry as she could. She followed her into the kitchen, pausing only to look at a picture with a then-middle age Mrs. Hubbard wrapping her arms around a younger man that Jenny didn't recognize. Next to it was an old wedding photo, the bride and groom beaming at one another with unrestrained joy.

"My husband Michael," Mrs. Hubbard said, noticing Jenny's gaze, "and our son Gabe. The happiest eighteen years of my life were spent in this house with those two rascals. The place isn't the same without them."

"What happened?" Jenny asked.

"Oh, Gabe found a job out on the coast. Hardly has time to see his own wife, let alone visit little old me. And Michael…he had a bad heart, just like his daddy. He dropped dead two weeks short of his sixtieth birthday. It'll be ten years this December."

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

Mrs. Hubbard smiled, but Jenny thought she saw a tinge of sadness. "Don't be, kiddo. We had some good times together. That's more than a lot of people can say." The kettle whistled, and Mrs. Hubbard went to take care of it. Jenny was reminded of her purpose in coming here, and stepped into the kitchen proper.

"Let me help.

"You're a dear, Jen, but I can manage. Go sit down and make yourself feel at home. I still can't believe Agatha had you walk all the way out here."

"She wasn't home," Jenny explained, sliding into one of the dining room chairs.

Mrs. Hubbard huffed. "That's no excuse. Next time call me, and I'll come 'round and pick you up. You'll catch your death out in weather like this."

There was another clap of thunder, as if nature itself was agreeing with Mrs. Hubbard, this time close enough to make a mantle of decorative plates rattle. The lights flickered and then died, leaving the house in darkness. Jenny was grateful for it, for it hid the blush creeping up her cheeks. The thought of calling Mrs. Hubbard for a ride hadn't even crossed her mind.

"Bah, let me get some candles. Here you go, Jen." Mrs. Hubbard set down a steaming mug. "It's not the start I wanted, but I'm glad you came. It's good to see you."

Mrs. Hubbard bustled around, gathering a book of matches, some scented candles, and an antique chamber lamp with a wick wider than Jenny's pinkie finger. Soon the kitchen was bathed in cozy light and Jenny felt herself relax.

"I suppose your aunt told you why I've asked you over?" Mrs. Hubbard asked, spooning some sugar into her mug.

"Yes, ma'am. She said you needed help with your garden."

"No need to be so formal, Jen," Mrs. Hubbard chuckled. "Angela is fine, or Mrs. Hubbard if you prefer. And that's partially right. The truth is this house is too big for one person, and I'm having a harder time keeping it up. The garden's a large part of that, but it isn't everything."

"Yes, m—Mrs. Hubbard. I'd be happy to help," Jenny said. "But I really don't know anything about gardening."

"That's what Agatha said. It's not as difficult as she makes it out to be. Once I teach you what's a weed and what's a carrot you should be all right. Now, I'm sure you're wondering about pay, and I was thinking—"

"You don't have to pay me, Mrs. Hubbard," Jenny said. "I'm happy to help in any way I can."

Mrs. Hubbard's eyebrows shot up. "I'm paying you whether you like it or not. You're giving up your summer vacation to come all the way out here to help me with my chores. I'm no slave driver, but trust me, once the weather gets nicer I'll have you earn every penny."

Jenny couldn't think of anything Mrs. Hubbard would have her do that would actually be worth anything. "But…"

"No buts! Spend it on new shoes, save it for college, I don't care, but I'm a firm believer in rewarding a job well done."

A small, nasty voice in the back of Jenny's head was questioning if she was capable of managing such a thing, but there was no arguing. "Thank you, Mrs. Hubbard. I…I'll try not to let you down."

Mrs. Hubbard smiled. "You have no idea how much you sounded like your daddy just then."

"You knew my father?" Jenny asked, unable to hide her surprise.

"Sure did. He was my doctor. Michael's too, now that I think about it. Even came to his funeral." Mrs. Hubbard sighed. "You don't get physicians like that much anymore. Too many try to push pills on you without seeing the person underneath. Magnus wasn't like that. He was a good doctor and a better man."

A thousand questions burned on the end of Jenny's tongue. Her parents were one of the many forbidden topics in the Trunchbull household. Jenny knew more about her father than she did her mother, but she found herself wondering more often what sort of person Magnus Honey was. What she remembered as a girl didn't seem to match the actions that led to his death.

Why would a good doctor and a better man entrust his daughter to a demon like Aunt Trunchbull? What sort of loving father would take his own life, leaving his one child in the care of a monstrous beast? Was the grim, quiet man Jenny remembered an accurate portrayal of who her father really was, or had she built up a romanticized ideal to cope with the soul-crushing reality in which she lived?

"What was he like?" Jenny asked, unable to keep the hopeful expectation out her voice.

Mrs. Hubbard didn't answer for a long while, studying Jenny from the light of the flickering candles. She poured herself another cup of tea and stirred in her sugar slowly. "You might be better off asking your aunt."

"I can't ask Aunt Trunchbull. It…it upsets her," Jenny said, stretching the truth almost to its breaking point.

"I see." Another pause, another clap of thunder, another sigh. "I remember the crotchety old ladies at church were all scandalized when he brought home a foreign bride he met at university instead of picking one of the local girls. Your mother charmed them to silence soon enough, but heaven help whoever tried to keep her from doing something she set her mind to. Your aunt's not the only one in the family with steel in her veins."

"They were step-sisters," Jenny said.

Mrs. Hubbard nodded. "Yes, that's what she said. I think your grandparents met through some mutual friends who traveled in the same athletic circles. Your mother was an amateur gymnast, you know, before an injury ended her career. Who knows how far she could have gone if she hadn't gotten hurt."

"My mother…was a gymnast?" Jenny echoed.

"That's right. And if you knew what buttons to press, you could get her to do a trick or two even after you came along. Natural-born acrobat if there ever was one."

Jenny sat back in her chair, completely blindsided by this revelation. Aunt Trunchbull spoke of her step-sister even less than she did her brother-in-law. Based on her aunt's tone, Jenny thought her mother was like her: shy, weak in character, good for nothing. But, no, her mother had been an athlete, just like Aunt Trunchbull, and apparently a successful one at that.

"Your mother was much younger than your father. It's difficult to explain if you never saw it for yourself, but she brought out the best in Magnus. There was a spark in his eyes when she was around…he adored her. And when you came along you were like one of those families you only ever hear about in stories. It was almost too good to be true."

Mrs. Hubbard looked Jenny in the eye, her expression unusually somber. "They loved you more than everything, Jen. Even after your mother died, Magnus did what he thought was best."

 _Then why?_ Jenny thought. _Why did he kill himself?_

"You take after your mother in looks, but you've got your father's personality," Mrs. Hubbard mused. "Wouldn't surprise me if you said you wanted to be a doctor someday, just like he was."

Like she was smart enough to get through medical school. "Blood makes me queasy," Jenny said quietly.

"Too bad. You'd have made a good one," Mrs. Hubbard said. "But enough listening to me yammer. I want to hear about you. What do you want to do once you get out of high school, if not follow in your father's footsteps?"

"I-I've not really thought about it," Jenny said, realizing as she said the words that they were true. It was hard enough most days to just exist. Thinking about the future took energy that she didn't have.

"Well you should. In less than four years you'll be graduated and out on your own, and unless you want to be stuck living in this dinky little town the rest of your life you've got to start planning ahead. Michael always said that goals were just dreams with a timetable, and he was no fool." As Mrs. Hubbard finished her drink, the lights came back on. She grinned. "So, come on at let me hear it. Surely you've got _something_ in mind."

Jenny couldn't tell if Mrs. Hubbard was making fun of her or not, but she knew that if Aunt Trunchbull were hearing the lies spewing from her mouth that she would be livid. Something within Jenny snapped. All she could hear was ten years of abuse and vitriol telling her what a useless, pathetic excuse of humanity was. Jenny's cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she had to blink back angry tears.

"Even if I wanted to go, no collage would ever accept someone like me," Jenny said, her voice dead.

Mrs. Hubbard looked stricken. "Jen, I didn't mean…"

"I'll probably do work like this," she continued nodding at her surroundings. "Cleaning, cooking, maybe a little gardening if I learn enough. It's all I'm good for."

"Jennifer Honey, I don't believe that for one second, and neither should you. Anyone who says otherwise is just being hateful," Mrs. Hubbard said fiercely. "Now, if you can honestly say you want to clean for a living don't let me stop you, but never, _never_ stop yourself from doing something you love just because someone puts a few roadblocks in your way."

Jenny's face crumpled. "But I can't. Even if I wanted, I…I just _can't_."

The line between Mrs. Hubbard's eyebrows deepened and she looked like she wanted to argue. Instead she took a deep breath and pushed herself away from the table. "Come with me, Jen."

Jenny followed Mrs. Hubbard mutely out of the kitchen, down a long hallway and into a small bathroom. She cringed as Mrs. Hubbard planted her in front of a small mirror above the sink, hugging herself as she remembered the humiliation Aunt Trunchbull put her through two years before.

"What do you see, Jen?" Mrs. Hubbard asked.

There was no way Jenny could answer a question like that honestly. The always-present self-loathing roared within her, and she dropped her head in shame.

When she didn't answer, Mrs. Hubbard said, "Because I see a beautiful, intelligent young lady who has had to endure more in fourteen years than most do in their entire lives. Your teachers speak highly of you, you know. The principle of the high school thinks your grades are good enough to get into most any school in the country."

"Why are you doing this?" Jenny asked, her voice cracking.

"Because I know your mother wouldn't want you to suffer like this, and because I know God didn't put you on this earth to spend your life on your hands and knees scrubbing floors." Tears streaked down the cheeks of Mrs. Hubbard, and her grip on Jenny's shoulders tightened. "And because after your father died you said something I'll never forget, and it's about damn time someone helped you like you helped me all those years ago. Whether you believe it or not, there are better things waiting out there than this, and your value as a human being doesn't go away just because someone says it does."

Emotions churning, Jenny stared at where the Mrs. Hubbard was touching her shoulder. It reminded her of a lifetime ago when her father did the same, before everything had been turned upside down and backwards. She had forgotten how _warm_ touch could feel when it wasn't being used to cause pain.

It was almost inconceivable, but the Mrs. Hubbard's words offered Jenny hope of a life beyond the dismal world in which she lived. This dream-life most likely would never come to be, but so long as there was a chance, Jenny would try and soak up as much of the goodness that surrounded it that she could.

And so the summer of her fourteenth year Jenny learned how to garden, a skill that would stay with her all her life. More importantly, Jenny decided she wanted to become a teacher. It was an occupation that she knew Aunt Trunchbull held in distain, but she couldn't imagine doing anything else.

If this seed of rebellion was ever to sprout, Jenny first had to go to college. The only problem, she had no money and couldn't see Aunt Trunchbull paying thousands of dollars towards her education. She needed a scholarship, and to get a scholarship she had to maintain her grades.

For the first time since severing ties with Lonnie, Jenny looked forward to going to school. She was still alone, was still friendless, but she could see the light at the end of the tunnel. If a goal was a dream with a timetable then Mrs. Hubbard the one who started the clock. When she looked back at that moment, there was no doubt in Jenny's mind that Mrs. Hubbard saved saved life on that stormy afternoon. It was a debt she would carry with her all her days, one that she could only repay by becoming the best teacher she could possibly be, instilling the same hope that she'd been given to the next generation.

* * *

 **AN:** If it feels like I'm avoiding writing Magnus's death, I kind of am. Such a big moment has to be done right - which takes time - and is also kind of intimidating - which makes me put it off. Not necessarily a good combo, but I've got some ideas. Still, I thought some levity was appropriate after such heavy chapters.

This chapter marks the end of our first "Act" so to speak in Miss Honey's development. I've got to fill in a couple of holes, ages 5, 6, and 9 if I've done my math correctly and then I'll go into high school/college life. The timeline gets a little sticky from there because in the book Miss Honey is only 23 years old, which in by today's standard would make her a first year teacher by the time Matilda enters the class. Not impossible, but certainly a stretch.

Lastly, I'm writing Broken with a loose head-canon in mind for Miss Trunchbull. I've decided not to go much more in depth about her past than what I've done this chapter if only because I don't want to make her an overly sympathetic character. Miss Trunchbull is a violent bully and probable murderer who physically, emotionally, and financially abuses her niece. There's a fine line between "I was abused and now I am an abuser" and "I am an abuser now because I was abused", and I don't want to risk stepping over it. If anything, Miss Trunchbull has less of an excuse because we have no indication that Jenny's mother behaved the same way despite growing up in the same household. Neither the book, movie, nor the musical give any explanation for her behavior, so neither will I.

Thanks as always for reading. Until next time.


	13. When Jenny Was Five Part I

_"This only encouraged the woman to greater cruelties until one day she **exploded**!"_

 _-I'm Here_

 _~x~_

It didn't take Jenny long to realize that her aunt was a little bit different than the other adults that she knew, but being so young she quickly adjusted to her eccentricities and soon regarded them as normal. By the time she turned five she thought little of the fact that her aunt liked to go outside to chuck heavy metal balls and long spears around the spacious lawn behind the house.

Her father said it was because Aunt Trunchbull used to be in the Olympics, and that the strange behavior was a sort of game where Aunt Trunchbull tried to throw whatever it was she was throwing at the time a little bit farther than the last, all without stepping outside an invisible line or ring. When Jenny told him that it didn't sound like a very fun game he only laughed, and the matter was soon forgotten.

It wasn't until the holiday season that Jenny noticed a change. Instead of going out two or three times a week for her mysterious training sessions, Aunt Trunchbull began leaving the house every day for hours at a time, leaving Jenny alone while her father was at work. Sometimes she would stay in the yard, and if Jenny climbed on the kitchen table she could see her aunt doing funny things like sprint back and forth until she was winded or flip a giant tractor tire all the way around the house.

Just where Aunt Trunchbull hid the tire so her father didn't see it, Jenny didn't know. She liked having the house to herself, and secretly hoped that one day her aunt would leave and never come back. Aunt Trunchbull always returned from these training sessions in a foul mood, prone to smacking Jenny around and sending her upstairs without her dinner.

Although today it seemed like she had forgotten about dinner all together. Jenny looked up from where she was playing with Lissy Doll and frowned. Daddy said that when the two hands of the clock stood up straight together that it was time for lunch, but the little hand was already pointed at the one, and she still hadn't eaten!

Jenny set Lissy aside and wandered over to the large windows that gave a spectacular view of the whole front yard. The driveway was empty. Daddy was at work and Aunt Trunchbull gone missing, without having left instructions for the noon meal.

Jenny's stomach grumbled in protest, but she didn't know what to do. Aunt Trunchbull could come back at any moment. Would she be angry if Jenny ate something out of the refrigerator without permission? Recently it seemed like she was always angry.

Resolved to wait, Jenny went back to her doll. She made it until the big hand reached the six, and her tummy made its loudest noise yet, so loud that Jenny half-wondered if Aunt Trunchbull could hear it, wherever she was. Tired of waiting, Jenny toddled over to the fridge.

It was mostly empty. Aunt Trunchbull was supposed to get the groceries, but had forgotten to this week. The only thing that looked even remotely appealing was a plate of leftover spaghetti, but Jenny wasn't allowed to use the microwave without adult supervision. After a moment's thought Jenny grabbed last of the milk and pulled a chair over to the counter. She climbed up to the cupboard where the cereal was. Skipping over Daddy's gross raisin bran she found the box of Honey Nut Cheerios.

 _Honey for my Bumblebee_ , Daddy would say on his rare days off, the only days he was home to make her breakfast. Grinning at her ingenuity, Jenny carefully descended back to the safety of the ground. She was climbing off of the chair when the front door suddenly burst open. The noise made Jenny flinch, and the box of cereal fell out of her small hands and spilled all over the floor.

Jenny had just enough to register the horrible mess she'd made when she heard her daddy cry out, "Hello? Is anyone home?"

"Daddy?" Jenny said in surprise.

"Bumblebee?" Daddy rounded the corner of the entranceway and into the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks, not even having taken off his hat and coat. "What in the world? Jenny, where is your aunt?"

His voice was sharp and piercing. He only ever took that tone with her when he was angry, and Jenny burst into tears.

Daddy crossed the kitchen in three long strides, plucking her out of the chair and into his arms. Jenny grabbed onto the front of his coat and buried her head into his chest. "I-I'm sorry! P-please d-don't be m-m-mad."

"Hush now, Bumblebee," Daddy said. He kissed the crown of her head, which only made the crying worse. "Jennifer, it's okay. I'm not angry. I just need to know where your aunt is. Did she go into town to do the shopping?"

"I don't k-know," Jenny sniffled. "She's been gone forever, and I-I was hungry."

"Hmm. It's not quite time for a snack yet, but I'm sure we can find something to hold you over." Daddy set her down and looked at the scattered Cheerios. "Just let me get this cleaned up first."

Jenny worried her bottom lip as Daddy got out the broom and swept up all evidence of her naughtiness. Her stomach did flip-flops when he put what was left of the cereal back in its place and began rummaging around the refrigerator. "I'm sure she just went out to the store," he said, whether to himself or Jenny she couldn't tell. "It's lucky that census was low at the hospital, so they let me come home for an extra-long break."

"W-What's a census?" Jenny asked, her natural curiosity for new words edging out the biting fear that ate at her fragile confidence.

"It's the number of people who are at the hospital, Bumblebee. Not many are sick or hurt, so there isn't as much need for workers. That will change soon enough, with flu season coming along," Daddy explained. "Do you want an apple, or we can wait until Aunt Trunchbull gets home and see what she brings with her."

"Can…can I have some 'scetti?"

"You want spaghetti for a snack?" Daddy chuckled. "You'll ruin your appetite for supper."

Jenny didn't answer, and her father took that to mean she wanted the apple. Carefully she wandered closer to him, not quite daring to give him a hug, although she really wanted to. Daddy was happy today, the happiest she'd seen him in a long time. She didn't want to be the one who ruined that.

Her father hummed as he cut up the apple into half a dozen slices. "Too bad there's no caramel. That would have hit the spot, wouldn't it, Bumblebee?"

Jenny nodded, managing a small smile as he handed her a plate. "Thank you, Daddy."

"Thank _you_ for letting me share this wonderful afternoon with my favorite girl in the world. Now tell me, what sort of mischief did you get into while I was at work?"

It disheartened Jenny that Daddy automatically assumed she had gotten into mischief when she always tried her very hardest to be a good girl. "I played with my doll."

"A worthy pursuit indeed." He pulled out a chair for her at the table, and Jenny sat down. "What did you end up having for lunch, anyway? I assumed that your aunt was going to heat up leftovers before going into town."

Jenny hesitated, not sure if telling the truth would get her into trouble.

"Bumblebee?" Daddy asked when she didn't answer right away.

"N-nothing," Jenny said, hanging her head in shame.

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

"I said nothing. Aunt Trunchbull left before lunchtime."

Daddy's eyebrows snapped together, and he spun around to look at the clock. "It's almost two," he said, almost disbelieving. "Jenny, how long has she been gone for?"

Jenny could only shrug. Telling time was a mysterious skill that she had not yet mastered. All she knew was it felt like Aunt Trunchbull had been gone for an eternity _,_ and she was hungry

"Dear Lord. I hope she's all right." The creases in Daddy's face deepened and he ran his hand over his mouth. "Give me a moment, darling. I need to tell the hospital I won't be back in this afternoon."

Jenny turned in her seat and watched as Daddy called the hospital. She couldn't hear the exact words that were said, but when Daddy hung up the worry was still there. "Well, she's not in the emergency room. I suppose that's a good thing." He took a deep, bracing breath and gave Jenny a smile that was only slightly forced. "Now, what was this about some spaghetti?"

"Yes, please!"

While Jenny ate her father kept glancing out the window. It was gloomy and overcast for November, with hardly any leaves left on the trees. The news said they were in for a wet Thanksgiving, and Jenny was just grateful she was inside with her daddy.

"Let's leave the dishes for later," he said once she was finished. "Go get yourself cleaned up, and I'll read you a story while we wait for your aunt to get home."

Jenny reached over and gave her father a tight hug before running off to do as she was told. Everything was always so much better when he was home, and she wished he would never leave her ever again.

~x~

It was after three when Aunt Trunchbull came home. Jenny was taking a nap curled up next to her father when the front door slammed shut hard enough to make the chandelier in the foyer rattle. Daddy stood, scooping Jenny into his arms.

"Magnus?"

"Agatha?" Daddy said at the same time. "What in the world…? What happened to you?"

Jenny twisted around to see what Daddy was talking about. Her aunt's hair was glistening with sweat, dark stains under her the arms and along the neck of her grey sweater. Her face was red and blotchy, and her black eyes wide with surprise.

Minus the shock, it was a sight Jenny had become accustomed to in recent weeks. She looked up at her father. "She was training again."

"What do you mean _again_?" Daddy asked. "Agatha, how long has this been going on? I thought you'd gotten into an accident, I was of half the mind to call the police!"

Aunt Trunchbull's lips pursed in anger, her gaze boring into Jenny. "You're getting worked up over nothing," she said. "I'm just trying to get back into form, that's all."

"Agatha, you can't just leave Jenny alone for hours at a time! When I got home she hadn't even eaten."

"A five year old should be able to manage a meal or two themselves," Aunt Trunchbull said. "At that age we were expected to know how to fend for ourselves."

" _You_ were expected to fend for _your_ self," Daddy corrected, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "I don't know how many times I have to say it, what you went through as a child wasn't normal. Jenny is a little girl, and she can't be left by yourself while you go for a workout. What if she had gotten hurt?"

Aunt Trunchbull stiffened as if she had been slapped, and the color drained out of her face. Daddy realized at once that he had gone too far. He set Jenny down. "Go to your room, Bumblebee. Your aunt and I need to have a talk."

"No, let her stay," Aunt Trunchbull said, her voice stony hard. "I apologize if I haven't lived up to your standards, but my life didn't end the day I agreed to help look after your daughter."

"No one said that…" Daddy protested.

Aunt Trunchbull cut him off with a glare. "I understand that you work difficult hours. I respect that as a doctor you don't have a set schedule. I know that Jennifer needs…looking after, and I put a great deal of my time and energy into doing just that. I do not regret volunteering my services in your time of need. However," Aunt Trunchbull looked down her long nose at Jenny's father as if he were somehow beneath her, "you are not the only one whose craft requires hours of dedication and discipline."

"What in the world are you talking about?" Daddy said.

"This summer is the qualifications for the next Olympics," Aunt Trunchbull said, "and I plan to be prepared for it."

"You…what?"

"I should have said something earlier, I admit," Aunt Trunchbull said, "but I didn't want to put undue stress onto your schedule until I had more details."

"You're…trying to qualify for the next Olympics?" Daddy said, utter astonishment written all over his face. "But you're…"

"Too old?" Aunt Trunchbull said dangerously. "Too out of shape?"

"No. No, of course not," Daddy stammered. "But wouldn't you have to go back to England?"

Aunt Trunchbull didn't respond, but her expression made it the answer clear. Daddy rocked back on his heels, dumbfounded, while Jenny felt a large grin spread across her face. She might be rid of her Aunt Trunchbull after all!

"If that's all, I'm going to get myself cleaned up," Aunt Trunchbull said. "I need to do the shopping yet today."

"No, Agatha wait. I'll get the groceries," Daddy said. "And when I get back we can discuss this more. I'm sorry I didn't realize that you wanted to compete professionally again."

A smirk cut across Aunt Trunchbull's face. "You said it yourself, Magnus. I'm a competitor, and a competitor never quits."

Daddy nodded, still looking a little shell-shocked. Jenny almost asked if she could go with him to the store, but the distracted, distant look he wore made her stop. It was the same expression he wore when he looked at pictures of Mommy, and she knew that he would not want her around.

Jenny and her aunt both watched as he pulled out of the driveway and headed down the road. As soon as he was out of sight Aunt Trunchbull smacked Jenny upside the head and drug her back into the living room.

"Don't think I'm not onto you, you little beast," she snarled, grabbing a fistful of Jenny's shirt. "You're no better than a rat, speaking to your father like that! There's nothing more despicable than snitch, and if I hear you speaking to Magnus like that again I'll make you regret the day you were born."

Jenny nodded her head emphatically, although she didn't truly understand what her aunt was talking about. Aunt Trunchbull dropped her unceremoniously to the ground before marching up to the stairs for a shower.

Hugging her knees up to her chest, Jenny tried her best not to cry. Oh, how much she wished that Aunt Trunchbull would leave her alone and let her live with Daddy in peace.

~x~

The next several months saw many changes in the Honey household. Daddy still had to work long hours, but he made a point to come home early once or twice a week so Aunt Trunchbull could better prepare for the Olympic trials. Jenny treasured this time with her father, and never said a word about her aunt's growing cruelty for fear that it would disappear.

When it finally came time for Aunt Trunchbull's big match, Daddy took a whole two weeks off of work, his first vacation since Mommy's death. He wanted Aunt Trunchbull to enjoy herself, he said. Aunt Trunchbull hadn't been in her home country for many years, and Daddy told Jenny privately that he hoped that she would have time to catch up with some old friends.

Jenny couldn't imagine who would be friends with Aunt Trunchbull, and watched silently as her father searched the attic for luggage. She wasn't generally allowed here by herself, and even with the dust liked taking inventory of all the hidden treasures.

"What's this?" Jenny said, pointing to a long, narrow case that was covered in a camouflage pattern that leaned against the wall.

Daddy looked up and shook his head ruefully. "I forgot I still had that. It's your grandfather's rifle. He liked to go hunting, but I never had a taste for it."

"Why?" Jenny asked.

"I suppose I didn't see the point. To be honest with you, I don't like guns much. Maybe I can find someone who has a use for this one."

Jenny tucked this tidbit of knowledge away, and smiled when her father pulled out a heavy suitcase for her aunt to use.

The moment Aunt Trunchbull stepped out of the house was the happiest in Jenny's life. She spent every waking minute at her father's side, soaking up his love and attention like a dry sponge. Daddy seemed more relaxed, too, one day allowing Jenny to stay in her pajamas for the entire morning.

For five days straight Daddy didn't let her leave his side. They went to the park, a zoo, even the hospital when Jenny asked where it was he worked. He introduced her to Mrs. Phelps, a helpful librarian who seemed to Jenny to be ancient but was actually only about fifty years old, and together the celebrated Jenny's first library card by going out to ice cream. He showed her a map of the world and pointed out where England was, and tried to explain the concept of time zones.

It was perfect in every way, and Jenny dreamed that her aunt would like England enough to stay there, allowing her and her father to be together forever. She even wished it on a shooting star, despite knowing that her father would be disapprove of such thinking.

But it was not to last. The night of the fifth day after Aunt Trunchbull's departure the Honey's were jolted from their bedtime reading by the front door slamming shut. Daddy shut _The Busy, Busy Bee_ and got to his feet.

"Who's there?" he called, drawing Jenny close to his side.

There was no answer, but there was no mistaking Aunt Trunchbull for anyone else as she stomped through the living room and up the stairs, before going to her room and slamming that door shut, too.

"Agatha?" Daddy said, utterly confused as he ran up the stairs. "Agatha what happened? I thought your meet wasn't until tomorrow."

There was complete and utter silence. Daddy waited, concern and hurt flashing across his face, for Aunt Trunchbull to answer him, but she never did. He hung his head and slow descended back down the stairs. Jenny reached out and took the book that was still in his hands.

"Why'd she come back?" she asked quietly. "I thought she was gonna be in the Olympics."

"I don't know, Bumblebee. I don't know."

Aunt Trunchbull never did explain did say what led her to cutting her trip short, but she never again mentioned the desire to compete professionally. For reasons unknown to Magnus and Jennifer Honey, her career as an athlete was over.

Too soon Daddy had to return to work, and the level of Aunt Trunchbull's vitriol and cruelty quickly raised to a level that Jenny had never seen before. It was clear Aunt Trunchbull blamed her for whatever happened, and Jenny was left wondering what she had done wrong.


	14. When Jenny Was Five Part II

" _I know what you're thinking," Matilda said. "You're thinking that the aunt killed him and made it look like he'd done it himself."_

" _I'm not thinking anything," Miss Honey said. "One must never think things like that without proof."_

~x~

After Aunt Trunchbull's return a dark shadow fell over the Honey household. Daddy spent several days trying to coax some answers out of Aunt Trunchbull but was thoroughly rebuffed every time. He took the rejection personally, and Jenny watched helplessly as the spark faded from her father's eyes. There were no more trips to the library or clandestine meetings under a fort built by couch cushions. There was an unease within the four walls of the house that Jenny could not explain nor escape from, a new tension between her father and her aunt.

Jenny was afraid for the day when Daddy would go back to work and she would once again be left alone in the care of her aunt. She didn't understand what she had done wrong to deserve such a horrible fate. Daddy never spoke of it, but Aunt Trunchbull made it clear that this punishment was _her_ fault. Whatever it was, it must have been terrible for her father not to forgive her after all these years.

He didn't even like hugging her any more. From the entranceway, Jenny watched her father sitting on the couch, flipping through old photo albums. He was unshaven, and for the first time Jenny noticed the strands of silver in his dark hair. Jenny's grip on the doorframe tightened as butterflies danced in her stomach. She hated seeing her father like this, especially when she knew she was to blame.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, so quietly that her father almost didn't hear. He looked up at her in surprise.

"Whatever for, Bumblebee?"

"You're sad," she said. "You're sad, and there's nothing I can do to make you happy."

The expression that crossed Magnus Honey's face was something Jenny had never recalled seeing before, and was something she could only describe as pain. Slowly, very slowly, he put aside the photo album and patted the seat next to him. Jenny stepped away from the doorframe cautiously, unsure if she was going to be punished.

When she was near enough, Daddy swept her up into his arms, cradling her close to his chest like he used to when she was small. "I've been a very selfish man," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Darling girl, you have nothing to apologize for. I don't think I could have gone on if it weren't for you. You…you deserve so much better."

He squeezed Jenny so hard it almost hurt, but she didn't want him to let go. The hug lasted long enough that at she didn't notice her father was crying until a tear dropped onto her forehead. Jenny craned her neck and saw Daddy's shoulders shake with a grief that she didn't understand. Reaching up, she touched his cheek with one hand.

"I'm sorry."

"I know, Bumblebee."

They sat together like that for a long time, so long that Jenny was nearly asleep when her father shifted her upright, sitting her properly in his lap. The tears were gone, but when he spoke his voice was somber and rough from crying.

"Sometimes…when you lose someone you love, you feel sad. Even when it's been a long time." Daddy shifted Jenny so she could see the pictures in the photo album. She recognized her father, but in most of the pictures he was with a woman that Jenny didn't know, but thought looked very familiar.

"Your mother," Daddy said, touching the photograph reverently, as if he might somehow rip it if he pressed down too hard. After a moment or two he turned the page that held pictures of a wedding. "And your aunt."

"She's in a dress," Jenny giggled.

"She didn't have a choice—she was your mother's maid of honor. I don't think Aunt Trunchbull ever forgave her for it," Daddy said with a small smile. It faded almost immediately, the sadness returning. "Your mother understood her better than I ever will. I wish she were here."

"Aunt Trunchbull?" Jenny asked, knowing her aunt was only upstairs.

"No, Bumblebee." Daddy hugged Jenny tight once more. "Your mother would be so proud of you." He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "And disappointed in me, I fear."

Jenny didn't know what to say to this. She didn't remember her mother enough to miss her like Daddy did, but on the few times she did think of it there was a little ache of longing in her heart. Other children had Daddies and Mommies, when she just had a Daddy and an Aunt Trunchbull. If Mommy were alive then Daddy wouldn't be sad anymore, and he would love her enough to make Aunt Trunchbull go away forever.

"I'm sorry," Jenny said, returning his hug wholeheartedly. "I love you."

Daddy pressed his lips against the crown of her head, his whiskers tickling her skin. "I love you, too. Don't worry over me, Jenny. Sometimes I think we're given difficult times to make us better appreciate the good, and you, my darling girl, were the best thing to ever happen to me."

Jenny wished she could believe him, but all the words in the world did not stop him from returning to work the very next day, once again leaving Jennifer alone in the care of her aunt.

~x~

The next morning after Daddy left for work and Jenny had eaten her breakfast, Aunt Trunchbull left the house with a barked order for Jenny to behave herself. Perplexed at her aunt's strange behavior but unwilling to argue against it, Jenny gathered up Lissy doll and sat quietly in a corner of the living room.

The sun crept higher in the sky, and Jenny quickly grew bored with her game. It wasn't as fun to play by herself, and Daddy made the best voices. With a small sigh, Jenny's mind and eye drifted. Laying on the table next to the chocolate box was the photo album that made Daddy cry. Setting Lissy doll aside, Jenny climbed into the couch and opened it up.

There were many, many pictures of Daddy, and he was smiling in each and every one. In one he was wearing a funny cap and robe, and holding up a piece of paper with fancy writing. In another he was opening Christmas presents with Mommy, who for some reason was much fatter than in any of the other pictures. Yet another showed him at the hospital holding a baby girl.

But the one that captured her attention more than any other was her father's wedding photo. Jenny traced her finger around her mother's radiant face, the ache worsening. Even Aunt Trunchbull looked happy—or at least not angry, though Jenny thought her smile showed too many teeth to be completely genuine.

Suddenly the door slammed open, and Jenny scrambled to put the album back where she'd found it. In her haste, she knocked Daddy's chocolate box over, and it broke open, scattering candy all over the floor.

"Brat? Is that you?" Aunt Trunchbull called.

Jenny didn't dare answer. She sat frozen as Aunt Trunchbull's enormous frame filled to doorway, her black, cruel eyes sweeping over the scene in front of her.

"Well, well, well. Why am I not surprised?" Aunt Trunchbull sneered. "I'm gone for less than an hour and you've already trying to steal sweets. Well, what are you waiting for? Get this mess cleaned up!"

"Yes, Aunt Trunchbull," Jenny said.

Aunt Trunchbull sat heavily into one of the armchairs while Jenny made quick work of putting the chocolates back in the box. In her hands was an enormous black book with gold lettering on the cover. It was bigger and thicker even than the family bible Daddy kept stored away in the attic. For once, Jenny's natural curiosity overrode her fear.

"What's that?"

"It's a book, you nitwit! Anyone could see that," Aunt Trunchbull glowered at her, her lip curling with distaste. "Give that here!"

Confused, Jenny handed over the chocolate box and watched as her aunt ate three in quick succession. "W-what book?"

"Quit stuttering," Aunt Trunchbull snapped. "It makes you sound like a coward. And never you mind _what book_. You're too stupid to understand it anyway. Now scat; hasn't your father ever told you that children are to be seen and not heard?"

Jenny scurried away from her Aunt Trunchbull and stayed out of sight until late that night when Daddy finally came home, but not before catching a glimpse of the mysterious book's cover.

Now, at five years old Jennifer Honey could read better than any child not named Matilda Wormwood. The first word of the book's title was much too complicated for her to decipher, but the second was only three letters long. Jenny knew that L-A-W spelled _law_ , and she knew a law was a fancy word for rule. It made sense to young Jennifer Honey that someone as obsessed with rules as Aunt Trunchbull would want to read a giant book full of them, and so she never mentioned it to her father.

It wasn't until she was much older that she learned the meaning of the word _inheritance_ , and when Jenny looked back on that day many years later she always wondered that if she'd only known the truth, then maybe, just maybe she could have saved her father's life.

* * *

 **AN:** Kind of a short chapter, I know, but it's been a while since I've updated anything so I figured I'd go ahead and post this to whet y'all's appetite.

A warning for next chapter, there will be some graphic depictions of child abuse. I wasn't exactly sure how I was going to do it before, but I've decided to stick with the musical's canon pretty closely as it's the most detailed of the adaptations regarding the night Magnus died. I think it's interesting that the musical makes it seem like a crime of passion while the book makes it seem more premeditated and in cold blood. In this work, I'm trying to marry the two differing scenarios as best I can.


	15. When Jenny was Five Part III

" _No one could believe that he would ever have done it. He was such a very sane and sensible man."_

" _Done what?" Matilda asked._

"Killed _himself."_

~x~

During the time between Magnus Honey's return to work and his death, Jenny began to wish desperately for a friend. Her books spoke of them and her peers at church had them in abundance. Even Aunt Trunchbull supposedly had friends, although Jenny was bewildered by why _anyone_ would enjoy her aunt's company.

One would have been enough to help ease the crushing loneliness. While Daddy was at the hospital Jenny was hardly allowed to speak. She was bored of having only her Lissy Doll for company and afraid of being alone with her aunt. While capable of reading simple books, Jenny vastly preferred the funny voices her father gave the various characters, and his soothing voice was much better than her halting attempts at sounding out unfamiliar words.

Even sharing the same house with Aunt Trunchbull was becoming unbearable. Maybe it was just because she was a coward (that's what her aunt always said, anyway), but as the summer progressed Jenny found herself spending more and more time out of doors while Aunt Trunchbull studied thick, dusty tomes that probably hadn't been referenced in decades. It was safer that way.

And throughout it all, all Jenny wanted was a friend. The closest she ever got was the kindly mailman, but he couldn't stay long. This brief daily contact with humanity was a drop of water on a dried sponge: Jenny wanted _more._

Instead Jenny spent her days wandering the wild gardens that hadn't been tended to since her mother died, imagining she were a brave explorer hacking her way through dense jungle. The common robins that nested in the branches above her swing transformed to colorful parrots in her mind's eye, the harmless garter snake into a deadly python. The long, hot days marched invariably forward, inching closer and closer to the mystery that was Pre School.

Daddy told her that she would be starting school at the end of August, easing her worries with fantastic stories of learning and comradery that had her yearning to go right that very minute. With the Fourth of July just past, August seemed like an impossibly long time away. It probably didn't help that the weather was so unforgivably _hot_. From her swing under the shade of the oak tree, Jenny saw Aunt Trunchbull throw the kitchen windows open, muttering curses as she tried to coax in a non-existent breeze.

With Aunt Trunchbull in one of her moods, it seemed wise to stay outside, even though sweat was making her hair stick to the back of her neck and the tip of her nose was burned red. With a sigh, Jenny slumped against the tree like a wilted flower onto the dusty earth. The heat had sucked her imagination dry, and she was bored and irritable—always a dangerous combination for a young girl.

Other children would have asked to go swimming, but Jenny knew better. Swimming was a luxury that she didn't deserve, and the public pool full of indecent girls and mischievous boys looking to cause trouble. Aunt Trunchbull refused to buy even a small inflatable tube for the yard.

A mosquito buzzed around Jenny's head. She waved it away, wracking her brains for some way to cool off. The grass was hard and prickly underneath her legs, and in the back of her mind Jenny wondered if Daddy had remembered to water the lawn.

Jenny sat up abruptly. That was it! Her eyes quickly found the green garden hose Daddy hooked up to the house the week before when the grass started to go brown for want of water. He'd showed Jenny how a simple spigot brought water from the house to the outside without having to fetch it.

Aunt Trunchbull was no longer by the kitchen window, and Jenny licked suddenly-dry lips. Surely what she was about to do counted as being bad, or else she wouldn't be feeling so guilty already. But…hadn't Daddy said that it was important to make sure the grass had enough water to keep the lawn looking nice? All Jenny was doing was trying to help.

This simple justification solidified the idea into an almost tangible thing. Jenny ran as fast as her little legs could carry her over to the coiled green hose ( _almost like a snake_ ) and traced it to the spigot that came out of the bottom of the house.

Luckily it was still connected, or else Jenny's plan would have ended before it had a chance to begin. Clutching the knob with her small hands, Jenny turned it, using every ounce of strength she had. Recent use left the spigot limber, and Jenny giggled when she heard the rush of water going through the hose.

She had to clasp her hands across her mouth to keep the giggle from transforming into a full-blown laugh when the first trickle of water dripped out of the end of the hose. Giddy with success, she turned the knob farther, and was rewarded with the trickle transforming into a steady stream.

Jenny turned the spigot until it would turn no more, and then she picked up the hose. Knowing better than to dance through the water like she desperately wished to, Jenny contented herself with washing the dust off her toes. The cool water felt good. With a wide smile, Jenny decided that she liked watering the lawn, and tugged a length of hose so she could reach the weeds of her mother's garden.

In doing so Jenny accidently undid a kink in the tubing that she hadn't even realized was there. The sudden increase of pressure tore the hose out of Jenny's hands and it began to flop on the ground uncontrollably. Water sprayed everywhere: on Jenny, on the house, and through the open window where Aunt Trunchbull happened to be reading.

With a yelp, Jenny rushed to turn the water off, but her hands were slick. In a growing panic she tried to grab the writhing tube. She was just able to manage, but not before she was sopping wet and not before Aunt Trunchbull was standing on the front porch, hawk-like eyes missing nothing as they took in the scene of Jenny's rebellion.

~x~

"Stupid fool! Vandal! Blackguard of the highest order! What have you to say for yourself?!"

Jenny stood shell-shocked in the middle of the kitchen. Water dripped on the linoleum floor, and Aunt Trunchbull breathed heavily as she waited for an answer. But Jenny didn't know what _to_ say. She was too frightened by her aunt, whose flushed red cheeks and bulging veins in her neck giving her the appearance of a monster. Jenny's silence made her swell with umbrage, her face going from the color of molten lava to a dark puce.

Aunt Trunchbull clamped her hands around Jenny's shoulders. The girl yelped in pain as her aunt's thick fingers dug into the soft flesh, and Aunt Trunchbull shook her sharply. "Answer me!" she roared. "Do you know what you've done?"

She pushed Jenny to the ground and stormed over to the table where her thick black book lay open. Dark marks marred where water had splashed across the pages, clear evidence of Jenny's forbidden game. "Terrible enough that you disregard other people's property," Aunt Trunchbull said, "but you've ruined a library book!"

Jenny's mind spun from her aunt's illogical rage. "I-I'm sorry. Mrs. Phelps is nice, i-if you tell her it's my f-fault…"

"What?" Aunt Trunchbull said acidly. " _You'll_ pay for the damages? With what money?"

"Daddy—"

"You'll not breath a word of this to your father, you dirty little maggot!" Aunt Trunchbull said, slamming the book back on the table. "I have worked too long and too hard to be undone by a pathetic, sniveling _child_."

"But—"

" _SHUT UP!_ " With one long stride she crossed the distance between her and Jenny. Aunt Trunchbull grabbed Jenny by the front of her shirt and raised her hand as if to strike her across the face. Jenny flinched, and Aunt Trunchbull remembered herself.

"No. Nothing that he can see," she muttered to herself, obviously frustrated. "Shut up, you blubbering snot rag. I need to think." Aunt Trunchbull dropped a sobbing Jenny onto the floor in disgust. The muscles in her broad shoulders were coiled tight, each line of her chiseled arms tense. Shaking hands wiped the sweat off of her forehead while it seemed like she was almost having a paroxysm with the effort to keep herself under control.

Jenny was too frightened and confused to notice the signs of her aunt's anger. She had been battered and abused in the three years since her mother's death, and she was sick of it. She did not know that her aunt had taken the book without checking it out. She did not know of the evil scheme developing in her aunt's heart, and she did not know that Aunt Trunchbull's greatest priority was hiding the evidence of her own wrongdoing. Hurting and afraid, Jenny knew only one thing.

"I _hate_ you," the girl screamed, finally giving voice to the truth she'd known since her mother's funeral. "I hate you, I hate you, I _hate_ you!"

The sudden outburst caught Aunt Trunchbull by surprise, and she didn't move as Jenny rose to her feet. "You're mean! I don't want to be quiet while you read your stupid book. Daddy says to be nice because you're sad, but you only yell and hurt me, and _I hate you."_

Caught in the throes of her tantrum, Jenny then did the unthinkable. Overwrought with emotion she lashed out, just like she'd seen her aunt lash out countless times in the past, and kicked Aunt Trunchbull in the shin. The paltry blow wasn't enough to hurt the behemoth of a woman, but it did snap her out of her daze. Aunt Trunchbull bellowed as she grabbed the back of Jenny's head and wrapped her fist in her hair before jerking sharply, cutting off her next scream.

A gasp caught in Jenny's throat, before bubbling out as a sob as Aunt Trunchbull drug her through the kitchen and down the hallway. "You beast!" she shouted. "You villainous wretch! I have been more than patient. For years I've put up with your disgusting displays of immaturity. I've stayed my hand for too long, and now look what's happened!"

Aunt Trunchbull threw Jenny into the downstairs bathroom and closed the door behind them. Jenny scrambled to her feet, but there was no room to run as her aunt took her father's spare belt from where it hung on the towel rack. A cold, icy fear spread through Jenny's chest, paralyzing her in place.

She'd hit her aunt! Such a thing was unforgivable and she was sorry she'd done it, but she couldn't get her mouth to work enough to say so.

"I have wanted to do this for so long," Aunt Trunchbull said, her voice low and dangerous. "Every smart remark. Every flicker of disobedience. Every attempt to circumvent my authority. I have remembered each and every one. If the poison isn't excised now it will only spread, and I refuse to be disrespected by a mere _child._ "

Tears of pure terror spilled down Jenny's cheeks as Aunt Trunchbull spun her over her knee, pulling down her sorts in the same motion. There was the whistle of her father's belt cutting through the air, and the split-second recognition of what Aunt Trunchbull was about to do.

And after that, there was only pain.

"You are a dirty, nasty, filthy little creep!" Aunt Trunchbull cried, punctuating each word with another blow. "I have given you simple instructions to obey, and you have willfully disregarded them all. This is your own doing!"

Jenny shrieked as the sting of the belt rippled through her whole body. The noise only incited further rage, and Aunt Trunchbull redoubled her efforts. The beating seemed to last for hours, but it could only have been a few minutes before Aunt Trunchbull allowed Jenny to fall to a heap on the cold tile floor. The girl wept, quietly and bitterly, the last of her energy spent. Welts crisscrossed from her upper thighs, across her bottom, and along her lower back. They throbbed in time with her heart, and thin ribbons of blood trickled from a few of the more vicious wounds.

"I-I'm sor-r-ry," Jenny sobbed.

"I'm sure you are, now that you've been properly disciplined," Aunt Trunchbull said coldly. She inspected the length of the belt, holding it almost reverently. "You wouldn't have acted out if you'd known what I was capable of, would you? Bah, your lily-livered father has ruined you. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Now get up. You've wasted enough of my time already."

Jenny could only cry.

"I said get up!" Aunt Trunchbull snapped. "God, I think you do it on purpose to upset me. No one could possibly be this pathetic by nature." Letting out another growl of frustration when Jenny didn't respond, Aunt Trunchbull picked up her niece by the nape of the neck and half-drug, half-marched her out of the bathroom.

The monstrous demon took a few steps towards the stairway before thinking better of it. A contemplative expression flickered across her hateful features, and she glanced down at Jenny as if taking her in for the first time. Then she consulted her watch.

"Plenty of time yet before the sentimental fool comes home," Aunt Trunchbull said to herself. She turned around and strode back to the kitchen, settling in front of the basement door.

"Since you've proven that I can't trust you to behave while I work on important errands, you shall spend the rest of your afternoon here, where you can't cause any more trouble. Your father would be ashamed of your behavior. Shut up and keep quiet and maybe I won't tell him what a useless rotter of a child he's got. Then again, if he knew then maybe he would finally punish you as you deserve."

Aunt Trunchbull threw Jenny down the basement stairs with all the care afforded to a sack of potatoes. Jenny's heart stopped beating when she heard the key scrape the inside of the old keypad, locking her in the dark, dank, dusty cellar.

Never before had Jenny been abused in such a manner. Despite her throbbing back, she scrambled up the stairs and pushed the door as hard as she could. It was useless. Jenny, already hoarse from screaming, cried out for help. There was the faintest of noises as her aunt exited the house, and Jenny knew she was well and truly alone.

~x~

It is useless to try to describe what Jenny felt as the hours passed. The cool basement air soon chilled her wet clothes, causing goose-bumps to travel up and down her arms. Her shirt and shorts stuck to the wounds on her back, and the smallest movement shot bolts of agony through her body. Worse yet was the cut of her aunt's betrayal, the crushing burden of her own guilt and shame, the overwhelming fear of what would happen once Aunt Trunchbull returned home.

Jenny stayed huddled by basement door, the dark unknown that lay down the stairs overriding her desire to escape. She could hear, however faintly, the noise that carried in from the kitchen. For the longest time there was silence—foreboding, ominous silence that threatened to swallow Jenny whole. She lay curled up at the top of the stairwell like an outcast dog waited at its master's porch, whimpering and quivering ( _pathetic_ ) until sheer exhaustion overwhelmed her overwrought soul.

Jenny slept restlessly, with disjointed nightmares of giants and monsters and shadows. The sudden slamming open of the kitchen door jerked Jenny out of her slumber. Confused and disorientated, she couldn't stop a sob from escaping out of her throat.

"Hello, I'm home!" Daddy's muffled voice came from beyond the basement door. "Agatha, Jenny? Is anyone home?"

Relief flooded through Jenny. "Daddy…"

"Hello? Where in the blazes could they have gone?"

"Daddy!" Jenny cried, slamming her fists against the door. "Daddy, help me!"

"Where…what in the world?" There was the thudding of footsteps as Daddy ran across the kitchen. "Jenny, are you there?"

"Daddy, help me," Jenny begged, her voice cracking. She slumped to her knees as sobs wracked her small, hurting body. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorr—"

A key turned inside the old padlock. The door to her prison cracked open, and the shadow of her father fell over Jenny's beaten figure. Jenny heard her father gasp. Reaching down, he put a hand on her sore back. The unexpected touch made Jenny recoil.

"Jenny…I…" A choked noise blocked out whatever he was trying to say. He touched her again, more carefully this time, helping Jenny stand. He gathered her into his arms as gently as he dared. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

Jenny hiccoughed quietly into her father's chest, having cried all the tears she could cry.

"Jennifer," Daddy said quietly, his voice carefully neutral. "Where is your aunt?"

"I didn't meant to hit her!" Jenny wailed suddenly. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, I promise!"

A dark shadow crossed over her father's face, his eyes widening as he realized—or was forced to see—what Aunt Trunchbull had done. His grip on Jenny tightened for a moment, just enough to made her wonder if he, too, wasn't going to yell and hurt her, before turning around suddenly. "I need better light."

Daddy carried Jenny up the stairs and into her bedroom. He placed her on the bed, laying her on her stomach. Then he exited the room briefly with a promise to return, and Jenny listened to his heavy footsteps as he went to the upstairs bathroom. He came back holding the same emergency kit Aunt Trunchbull used to bandage Jenny's finger the previous year.

Using water to loosen the dried blood, Magnus Honey peeled the shirt off of his daughter's back. As a medical professional, he knew what a beating looked like. The angry red welts went beyond the limits he had set for corporal punishment all those years ago, when he'd first invited his sister-in-law into his home. It went beyond discipline. All Magnus could see in those marks were hate and rage.

He also knew that this likely wasn't the first time Agatha had hurt Jenny, for abusers often escalated their violence over time. How long had his daughter suffered? How long had he been blind to the atrocities taking place in his own house? How long had he, wrapped up in his grief for his wife, failed to protect the most precious reality to their marriage?

"I will make this up to you, even if it takes the rest of my life," he swore. "Jenny…my precious little Bumblebee…I…I am so sorry."

Jenny turned back to look at her father. Beautiful brown eyes, bloodshot and exhausted after her ordeal, searched his face, frightened. Just what she was afraid of Magnus was too ashamed to speculate, but if possible his heart broke even more.

"Don't cry," she said anxiously. "Please don't cry. I'm alright. I…I don't want to upset you."

"Oh, Jenny, no…" Magnus shook his head. "That's not…you've done nothing wrong. I didn't mean to desert you. Hush now," he whispered, wiping away silent tears. "I'm here."

Jenny's eyes fluttered closed, and her father turned his attention back to the marks left by Aunt Trunchbull. He worked silently, but each touch was tender, compassionate. When he was finished he helped Jenny change into her pajamas, even though it wasn't even dark outside and many hours before her bedtime.

"I'm here," her father repeated as they lay next to one another in the bed. Jenny snuggled close to the protective shield of his arms, feeling the whiskers of his beard scratch against her forehead, breathing in deeply the scent of his cologne. Her heartbeat slowed, the tension seeped out of her body, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, Jennifer Honey felt _safe._

~x~

It was dark outside when a sudden bang woke her. Jenny startled, aggravating the wounds on her back. A soft whimper escaped her throat and she groped in the darkness for her father.

The bed was empty, and Jenny shot up in a panic. The only light was coming from the crack under the door. The loud noise ( _a firecracker?_ ) had startled even the insects into silence. Seconds stretched into an eternity as Jenny gathered her battered courage, stepping out of bed and onto the cold hardwood of her bedroom floor.

Silently as a mouse she crept towards her door. She listened, pressing her hear against the wood, but heard no sound. The hinges creaked as she opened the door, just enough to peek through. Jenny held her breath as Aunt Trunchbull exited her father's study, quickly striding past and down the stairs, but her aunt didn't notice her. In fact, she seemed too much in a hurry to notice anything at all.

Had Daddy kicked her out of the house? Jenny slid through the opening of her door and rushed to the study to ask him. She was afraid of being alone near her aunt for even a second, and felt the powerful need to be near her father. This need overrode her manners, and she burst into the study unannounced.

For a moment Jenny thought he was sleeping at his desk. The truth was too much for her young mind to compute, even as she noticed her grandfather's gun ( _Daddy hates guns_ ) lying haphazardly on the ground and the deep carmine stain that was spreading far too quickly across the polished wood of his desk.

"Daddy?" Jenny asked, and she screamed as a massive hand clasped her shoulder tightly.

"I've already notified the police," Aunt Trunchbull said, her eyes fixated on her dead brother-in-law. "Your father was always a weak man, Jennifer. Much like you, in fact. You'll have to be careful lest you meet the same end."

Aunt Trunchbull led the numb Jenny out of the study, and the little girl never saw her father ever again.


	16. When Jenny Was Six

_"But surely you could have complained to_ somebody _," Matilda said._

 _"To whom?" Miss Honey said. "And anyway, I was far too terrified to complain."_

~x~

Jenny remembered little of the days, weeks, and months following her father's death and the subsequent invasion of Aunt Trunchbull into every facet of her life. She vaguely recalled the funeral and being bewildered and confused as to why no one would look her in the eye. She remembered vividly the first time her aunt had struck her across the face, for it was at that time she had been told in no uncertain terms that her father wasn't coming back.

But mostly, all she remembered was fear.

At night there were horrible dreams of blood and monsters. She would wake screaming for her father, only for her aunt to hit her for being too loud and lock her in the basement when she couldn't stop crying. During the day she learned of virtue of discipline and the consequence of rebellion, with pain as her schoolmaster. Jenny was a quick enough student, but in her aunt's eyes she was never good enough. Kindergarten was out of the question for a stupid, misbehaving girl like herself, and church quickly became the one place where Jenny was free from her aunt's poison.

"Now, for today's craft we're going to draw a picture." Mrs. Hubbard down at her students through her horn-rimmed glasses. "Can anyone tell me what the main point of our lesson was?"

Half a dozen hands shot into the air, while Jenny kept hers folded in her lap. Good girls didn't speak in church, and Jenny desperately wanted to be a good girl. Mrs. Hubbard's gaze swept through the room, looking over each squirming child as she hummed thoughtfully.

"You're all so eager this morning. Kevin, what was it that we learned today?"

"Um…" the five year old boy looked around the room for inspiration and shrugged his shoulders. "I forgot."

Jenny frowned to herself. Kevin was always trying to get the teacher's attention when he didn't know the answer. She didn't know why he didn't get in trouble for wasting time and being stupid.

"All right. Next time, only raise your hand when you're ready to talk about the lesson." Mrs. Hubbard tucked a strand of greying hair behind her ear before pointing to a bouncing girl whose hair was braided into twin plaits. "Yes, Faith?"

"It was mana! The people were goin' out to the wilderness and didn't have no food to eat. So their stomachs got grumbly and they complained to Moses. So God gave them mana, only sometimes they took too much and it turned into _worms_." Faith scrunched her nose. "My dad gets worms sometimes when he goes fishing. They're _gross_."

"The worms in the wilderness were gross," Mrs. Hubbard agreed, "but only because the Israelites didn't do as God said. What's our key phrase from this story?"

"Trust God!" eight voices chorused, Kevin's slightly behind the rest. Mrs. Hubbard smiled.

"Very good. Now I want you all to draw a picture of how you might trust God at home. I'll give you a couple minutes to work on them, and then I'll ask some of you to share with the class."

The Sunday school class scrambled for the crayons and everyone began talking at once. The noise was almost too much for Jenny to bear. The directions Mrs. Hubbard gave didn't make sense. Jenny didn't know why, but she felt trapped. The urge to cry bubbled up her throat, but she suppressed it viciously. Crying was bad. Throwing temper tantrums or being loud was bad. Every Sunday she was surrounded by bad children with bad parents and a bad teacher who didn't know how to do anything.

It was Jenny's bad behavior that made her mother go away forever, Jenny's misdeeds that killed her father. The story of the Israelites in the wilderness wasn't about trusting God, it was about obedience, and no one knew more about obedience than she did.

Jenny's fingers curled around a black crayon. She now knew she was supposed to be drawing.

~x~

Angela Hubbard patrolled her classroom, strangely detached from the task at hand. It'd been stupid to try to resume teaching so soon after Mike's death, but she needed the distraction. The five and six year olds who made up her class were much too young to understand that her husband had died less than a month ago from a massive heart attack. Sure, they'd signed a sympathy card one of the parents picked out, but they didn't _get it_.

Sunday school was an glorious hour free of the glances and hushed whispers that followed her wherever she went, but the kiddos were exhausting. She'd never noticed that before, and as the hour came to a close Angela contemplated skipping the main service entirely while looking over the different, oftentimes improbable, scenarios her kiddos came up with.

Little Faith Rivers had drawn a rainbow, Kevin Bunt an alien. Tony Montoya looked like his actually pertained to the lesson, but his speech impediment was so bad she couldn't understand half of what he said, and finally Angela had to give up trying. Resisting the urge to rub her tired eyes, she picked up Jennifer Honey's offering—a 9x13 page of black scribbles.

"And what do we have here?" Angela asked, trying to inject as much gentleness and kindness as she could into those words. Jennifer had been in her class for almost two years now, and it was still like pulling teeth trying to get her to talk. In the spring she'd graduate up to the next class, giving Angela mere months to try to make some kind of breakthrough.

Jennifer mumbled something incoherent, and Angela kneeled down next to her. "What was that, Jen?"

"The basement."

Angela looked at the picture again. "Is it dark in your basement, Jen?" The girl nodded, her gaze fixated on the table. "Ah, but we can trust God even when it's dark. Do you have to go into the basement often?"

Jennifer didn't answer, and Angela was about ready to go on to the next student when she heard the girl sniffle quietly. Leaning in closer, she could see a tear fall down Jennifer's cheek.

"What's wrong, Jen?" Angela asked.

The bell rang before she could answer, and Angela was forced to leave Jennifer to restore order long enough for parents to pick up their kids. Agatha was the only one who never bothered to accompany their student up into the sanctuary, a habit that until now Angela had always found disproportionally irksome.

Soon they were alone, and Angela was for once grateful for Agatha's relaxed parenting style. She pulled a chair next to the still-crying Jennifer and sat down. "There, there," she said softly, pulling a tissue out of her pocket. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you."

"I-I'm sorry. P-please don't be m-m-mad."

Angela tilted her head as Jennifer blew her nose loudly. "I'm not mad, I'm concerned. Do you want me to get your aunt?"

"No!" Jennifer exclaimed, suddenly frantic. "P-please don't t-tell. I-I'm sorry I was bad. I'm s-s-sorry—"

The girl couldn't manage any more. Broken sobs wracked her thin shoulders as she threw herself into Angela's chest and bawled. Not certain if she was doing the right thing, Angela pulled Jennifer into her lap and held her close, rocking slowly back and forth as she eyed the picture that still lay on the table.

"I'm not angry, Jen. It's okay," Angela said. The black scribbles seemed ominous now, much more than the simple drawing of a child who couldn't manage anything better. "Tell me about your picture."

"I-I was bad, and now Daddy's g-gone. I-I'm sorry. I'm s-so sorry…" Jennifer sniffed piteously and buried her face into Angela's shirt. "I-I d-don't want to be a…a bad g-girl."

"Oh, Jenny," Angela sighed, her heart breaking for the little girl sitting on her lap. "It's not your fault. You've done nothing wrong. Your father…" she hesitated. It wasn't her place to explain how or why Magnus Honey was dead. "Your father loved you very much. It's just that…sometimes bad things happen and we don't know why."

"Sometimes bad things happen so we can remember the good," Jenny whispered, and Angela got the distinct impression that she was quoting someone.

"That's exactly right." Reaching around Jennifer, Angela plucked a tissue out of the box and wiped her cheeks. Her thoughts drifted to her husband unbidden, and Angela wondered if perhaps this little girl didn't understand more than anyone else what pain she was suffering.

"Your aunt will be waiting for you," Angela murmured, and Jennifer's grip tightened. "It's okay, Jen. I won't tell her about our talk unless you want me to."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Angela said solemnly. "But I daresay she would want to know. She can't know how to help you if she doesn't know what's wrong."

Jennifer shrank back. "She knows what I did wrong."

"Jen, that's not what I meant—" But the girl was already sliding off of her lap and making a bee-line for the door, leaving Angela at a loss.

It took her a moment to realize that Jennifer had left behind both her picture and her bible. Angela picked up the latter, scowling for a moment when she saw that it was an Old King James. Did Agatha expect Jennifer to read and understand such archaic language? The girl wasn't even in school yet!

Setting the bible down with a sigh, she turned her attention once again to the crayon drawing. The lines were wild and dark, made by a forceful, almost angry hand. There were hardly any white left showing, no discernable shapes or figures. There were only scribbles.

An uncomfortable feeling twisted in Angela's stomach, a distress that was almost nauseating. Angela had never liked the idea of Jennifer being left alone in that big house with no one but Agatha for company, but it was really none of her business how the former-Olympian decided to rear her.

Then again, Agatha had the emotional range of a dry stick. She might not even be aware of how the girl was suffering, or be able to offer a safe lap for Jennifer to sit on for comfort and understanding. Over he last two years Angela had seen Jennifer transform into a shy, but relatively curious child into a silent wraith of a girl who didn't speak unless asked a direct question, and sometimes not even then.

Which, in retrospect, made her crying-spell all the more concerning. Jennifer's grief had twisted her into believing that _she_ was responsible for her father's death. That just wasn't right, and if not corrected now could cause untold damage as she grew up.

Angela had promised not to talk to Agatha, but something had to be done. If Jennifer felt like she couldn't approach her aunt with her fears, then it was Angela's duty to speak for her.

~x~

"May I have a word, Agatha?"

Angela struggled to keep her face impassive as Jennifer went white as a sheet. Agatha's dark eyes swept across the quickly-emptying sanctuary. The pastor had gone long again, and almost everyone was eager to get home—even pious, particular Agatha Trunchbull.

"Wait in the car. This won't take long," Agatha snapped to Jennifer. The girl nodded before threw one last, pleading glance at her Sunday school teacher.

"Here you go, Jen, you left this in the classroom." Angela held out Jennifer's bible. The girl—hesitant, timid, trembling—snatched it out of her hands and darted away before either of the adults noticed her any more than they already had.

"Queer girl," Agatha snorted, almost to herself. "Acting like you were going to bite her!"

The giant of a woman chuckled, as if she'd made some great joke, and Angela found her dislike for her growing. It was no secret that the two of them had never gotten on particularly well. Angela was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt in most situations, but it seemed to her that laughing at a child who had recently lost her father to be in poor taste.

"Actually, Agatha, I wanted to talk to you about her," Angela said.

The laughter died instantly. "What's Jenny been telling you?"

"Nothing," Angela said, affronted by the other woman's demeanor. "And that's part of the problem. Look, I know it's none of my business, but I'm worried about her. I can hardly get her to speak up in class, and I think…" she faltered, uncharacteristically unsure of herself. "Have you considered having her see a professional?"

Agatha's face flushed beet red, but when she spoke her voice was icy cold. "Excuse me?"

"I know…I know it's difficult," Angela said, her resolve hardening with each word, "but I think that Jen—"

"You think? You _think?!_ " A few of the remaining members of the congregation turned to look at Agatha as her voice rose in pitch. She noticed, and with visible effort reduced her voice to a harsh snarl. "You dare! I can't believe the gall of it! You see the girl for _one hour_ a week and you think that gives you a right to butt into her affairs? To question how I raise her?!"

"That's not what I meant, Agatha," Angela said, putting her hands on her hips and jutting her chin up defiantly. "Please, just listen to me. Jennifer thinks it's her fault that her father died. I think she's internalizing a bunch of stuff right now, and it's not healthy. I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but there are trained professionals that can help her talk through some of her problems."

"She told you this?" Agatha asked.

"Not in so many words," Angela allowed, "But…"

"But _nothing_ ," Agatha snapped. "How you deal with your loss is your own concern, but I won't allow you to project your issues onto my niece when there is clearly nothing wrong."

"Excuse me?! How dare—"

Agatha's lips curled into a smirk, almost as if she were saying _turnabout's fair play._ "The loss of your husband grieves us all, but don't drag Jennifer into what are clearly your personal problems. Of course she's quiet in your class— _all_ children would be if they were properly disciplined. As for your other accusations, they're complete and utter hogwash. Jennifer believes she has no more part in Magnus's death than I do. Now if you excuse me, I must leave. It's not good to leave children unattended for prolonged periods of time."

Something warm and wet fell down Angela's cheeks. She was crying, she realized somewhat detachedly. She was crying, and she wasn't completely certain if it was for herself or little Jennifer Honey. How could someone be so cruel? Agatha had lost both her sister and her brother-in-law, surely she knew how deep her words would cut, and she had decided to speak them anyway.

Angela wanted to hurl back an equally hurtful insult. She wanted to scream and shout and pull Agatha's hair until she _listened_. But she didn't. She could only watch numbly as Agatha turned primly on her heel and strutted out of the church with an air of moral superiority. The small crowd parted like the Red Sea before her, the people knowing on some instinctual level not to get too close.

Angela didn't remember driving back to her old Victorian on the edge of town, and as the years passed she wished she could forget flinging herself into her bed and weeping like a schoolgirl with a broken heart. Agatha Trunchbull's attack against her had ripped open the healing wounds of her grief, leaving her defenseless and unable to fight for the little girl who needed her most.

It was quite some time before her thoughts returned to the black crayon drawing and what it could possibly represent, and many more years before she gathered the strength and courage to try and fight against the cruel, hateful Agatha Trunchbull once more.

This second chance would not be like the first, Angela knew better than to try to face her opponent head on. She could only pray that she was not too late, and that Jennifer would forgive her for her failure. For even if she never learned the whole truth, what Angela _did_ know was enough for her to never to forgive herself.

* * *

 **AN:** Sorry for the absence. I have been inordinately busy lately, but here's a new chapter for you guys. Hope you enjoy it.

Firstly, child art therapy—along with play therapy—are staples with young children in that it helps kids who are unable or sometimes too afraid to voice their emotions express themselves. Speaking from experience, it can be a great communication tool between a child and an adult, even if they don't have professional training in the area.

Secondly, in the United States compulsory schooling starts from age 5-8 depending on the state you reside, and ends at 15-18, again depending on state. I decided for Miss Trunchbull to pull Jenny out of school for an extra year as a means further isolating and forming a more iron-tight grip over her, and while it would have been seen as odd by some, it could be argued that the mental strain of formal education would be too much for Jenny to handle so closely after her father's death.

It also would explain how the Wormwoods don't get in trouble for not enrolling Matilda into school until she's seven and a half (movie universe only). Legally speaking they didn't have to, and we all know how well the Wormwoods like their legalities.

Lastly, I've always been a little perplexed by Miss Trunchbull's jump between 'Jenny's caretaker' to 'headmistress/principle'. This missing year could give her the opportunity to get the certification/education she needed to enter the job market, assuming she doesn't already have it. I'd be interested to see if my readers have any thoughts on when exactly Miss Trunchbull came to be employed at Cruncham Elementary.

Again, thanks for reading. Until next time.


	17. When Jenny Was Nine

" _Almost anyone else witnessing the achievements of this small child would have been tempted to make a great fuss and shout the news all over the village and beyond, but not so Mrs. Phelps. She was someone who minded her own business and had long since discovered it was seldom worthwhile to interfere with other people's children"_

~x~

Jenny, for all her curiosity, was by nature timid and shy. She did not remember a time before Aunt Trunchbull, when it had been safe to ask questions or venture new observations of the world around her. Strangers were met with instinctual wariness, opinions left unsaid out of fear of rejection. Rank and file obedience was the only thing Jenny knew, her aunt's sharp tongue all she dared to expect.

The library was her haven. Aunt Trunchbull often had business at the school that lasted long after the final bell rang. The journey home was deemed too far for Jenny to walk, and the library became her only option unless she wanted to stay on the grounds of the school for hours on end. Bereft of the modicum of cheer brought by the students, the hallways of Cruncham Elementary were uninviting and cold, almost sinister. Jenny hated it when she had to stay at school.

But the library…the library was safe. So long as she was quiet and didn't disturb anything, Mrs. Phelps left Jenny alone. Most days Jenny had enough time to finish her homework, with a little extra left over to peruse the shelves at her leisure. The moment Aunt Trunchbull's hulking figure came through the entrance, Jenny would scramble to put her book away and hurry to follow her aunt back home, never once causing a fuss or asking if she were allowed to check something out to read at home.

Aunt Trunchbull never noticed Jenny's attempts to please her, but over time Mrs. Phelps did. It took a surprisingly long time—Jenny's natural quietude made her fly under the radar—and looking back the old librarian would never be able to pinpoint when exactly her interest of little Jennifer Honey began.

In any case, when Jenny was nine and the time came for parent-teacher conferences, Aunt Trunchbull decided that she didn't have time to drive Jenny home and get back to the school in time to prepare for the cascade of parents who would come to show their token interest in their children's education. Aunt Trunchbull hated parent-teacher conferences almost as much as she hated pigtails, and Jenny was afraid she would end up being thrown in the Chokey out of sheer irritation. The relief she felt when she was granted permission to go to the library instead was almost palpable.

On the day of conferences Jenny made the short walk to the library. As always, the magnificent edifice of stone and brick felt the tiniest bit intimidating as Jenny climbed the steps, like she was unworthy of the greatness hidden behind the glass doors. Even at that age she knew that books were important, though she would not have been able to articulate why.

Her insecurity faded when she entered the building proper. The library was always kept a little on the cool side, but that didn't stop the warm, relaxed feeling from spreading all through her body as she slid her backpack off of her shoulders and dutifully went to the nearest table to start her homework. The busy noise of the street was left behind, and Jenny settled into the comfortable silence like it were a favorite blanket.

The tranquility of the library was nothing like the oppressive, suffocating silence of home that was so heavy Jenny could have choked on it. The tightness in her chest loosened, and she could actually concentrate on her work. Problems that would have taken more than an hour at home she completed in twenty minutes. It wasn't even four o'clock when Jenny finished her homework, and parent-teacher conferences wouldn't end till seven thirty. She had _hours_ before Aunt Trunchbull would come pick her up.

For the first time in a very long time, Jenny smiled.

~x~

Mrs. Phelps was shelving books when she saw her. Jennifer Honey had left the confines of children's literature to wander down the resource aisle. Large brown eyes, magnified owlishly behind round spectacles, read the different titles with solemn reverence, while small fingers traced the spines of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. Mrs. Phelps wasn't sure what to think of the sight. Clearly the girl was doing no harm, but the moods of children were fickle and she didn't feel like cleaning up a mess if and when the girl grew bored.

"Can I help you?" Mrs. Phelps asked.

Jenny jerked her hand back in surprise. "N-no! I was just looking."

Mrs. Phelps looked down her half-moon glasses. She remembered when the girl came in with her father to obtain her first library card. That had been what, four, maybe five years ago? It was a darned shame. Too often parents didn't invest in their children's education.

"Looking for anything in particular?" Mrs. Phelps asked, not unkindly.

Jenny shook her head. "No, ma'am." She glanced up at Mrs. Phelps for only a moment before averting her gaze. "I finished my book, and I was just…I was just looking," she finished lamely.

"Oh, and what did you finish? I could help you find something similar if you enjoyed it."

"It was _The Secret Garden,_ and I _loved_ it," Jenny breathed. "It was magic made out of words."

A flush of color crept up the girl's pale cheeks, and she ducked her head in embarrassment. Mrs. Phelps smiled and set her cart of books aside. "It is magic, a magic that only the best authors can wield." A quick look at her watch showed that, late at it was, it would be quite some time before Agatha finished her work at the school. She wondered if Jenny wasn't lonely wandering the shelves by herself.

"I think there are some cookies left over from reading time with the preschoolers. Would you like one?"

Jenny nodded hesitantly. "Yes, please."

Mrs. Phelps' smile widened. Taking Jenny by the hand, the pair walked to the front of the library. Mrs. Phelps left Jenny by the desk while she fetched a plate of cheap store-bought cookies and a Dixie cup of water. Jenny stuffed two into her mouth before remembering her manners.

"Fank ou," she said, talking around a mouthful of food. Her blush deepened, and she gulped loudly.

"You're welcome. Now, just stay here and I'll go see if I can find a few books you might like."

Mrs. Phelps wandered over to the children's section, instinctually bypassing some of the popular titles that favored style over substance. If Jenny was a strong enough reader to understand and enjoy a book written in 1911, then she could certainly handle a story with a little meat on its bones.

 _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ seemed like an obvious choice, as did _Anne of Green Gables_. She selected both, along with _Little House in the Big Woods_ and Shel Silverstein's _Where the Sidewalk Ends_. When she returned to the desk, she found Jenny staring at a reprint of Norman Rockwell's _The Stockbridge Library Librarian_ someone had donated almost ten years previous.

"I wouldn't recommend carrying that many books at one time," Mrs. Phelps said. "The carts manage better and with much more practicality."

Something that was almost a smile flashed across Jenny's face, there for only a moment before leaving the solemn, entirely-too-serious expression back in place. Her gaze fixated on the books in the older woman's hand. "Thank you."

Mrs. Phelps was sure that her ears were deceiving her, for the girl almost sounded grateful. That was ridiculous, for there was nothing she had done to be grateful _for._

"Just doing my job, dear. Now, if it's magic you want, I think you might enjoy C.S. Lewis…"

~x~

The second day of parent-teacher conferences were much like the first. Jenny hurried from the school to the library and made a beeline for the closest desk to do homework. Half an hour she was engrossed in a world of magical wardrobes, satyrs, and talking lions. The real world melted away, and she it felt as if the words themselves were tangible, real things. She gasped when Aslan sacrificed himself for selfish, greedy Edmund Pevensie and felt like cheering when he returned in life just in time to defeat the White Witch. When she finally reached the end Jenny could only stare at the last page, unwilling to finish it, for that would mean the story was over. It was a bittersweet feeling, similar to when she had finished _The Secret Garden_.

Aunt Trunchbull would have scolded her for getting emotional over a _book_ , but Jenny couldn't help it. She loved reading in a way she loved nothing else. It left her feeling like she'd been sucked into a joyous tornado of new thoughts and ideas and words. Now that the spinning stopped she felt dizzy and a little bit sad, like unexpectedly losing a friend.

Not that Jenny knew what it was like having a friend, which somehow made it worse.

"Did you enjoy the story?"

Mrs. Phelps's voice snapped Jenny out of her stupor. She flinched at the unexpected question, instinctually tensing her shoulders in case she'd done something wrong.

"I wish there was more," Jenny said, knowing she was being selfish even as she spoke. The kindly librarian had already given her other books that were likely just as good—there was no reason to get stuck on this particular one.

But Mrs. Phelps only smiled at her _(smiled!)_ , a devious twinkle in her eye. "There _is_ more. Here, I found this and thought you might like it. Take a look while I go get them."

Mrs. Phelps set down a heavy book with a red-bound cover, with faded gold lettering that read _Norman Rockwell._ Curious, Jenny opened the cover and saw that it wasn't a proper book at all, but a set of illustrations. The style was reminded her of the picture framed the front desk and were very well done.

Some were funny, like a doctor listening to the heartbeat of a doll, while others were serious. Most, however, simply seemed to be normal people doing normal things—although the picture of a girl with a black eye sitting outside a principal's office sent an involuntary shiver of dread down Jenny's spine. The colors were generally bright and Jenny felt a strange sense of optimism radiating from the pages.

Mrs. Phelps returned before Jenny had a chance to wonder too much how such simple pictures could spurn such feelings. Jenny's eyes widened as she saw her carrying six more books in her hands. "The complete Chronicles of Narnia," Mrs. Phelps said as she set the books down on the table.

Six more books plus the three others she'd recommended the other day. "I can't read all these before Aunt Trunchbull comes back," Jenny protested.

"Of course not, silly," Mrs. Phelps said. "Although you could check them out if you liked. You do have a library card."

Jenny hadn't used her library card to check out a book since her father died. "That's still too many for me to take home."

Mrs. Phelps clucked disapprovingly. "Come with me, Jenny. There's something I would like to show you."

After carefully shutting the picture book, Jenny slid out of her chair. Mrs. Phelps led her to the reference room, and then to a secluded corner where a series of large metal filing cabinets were lined against the wall. The librarian opened one of the lower drawers so that Jenny could easily peer inside.

"This is the library's kardex system," she explained. "Every book in the entire library can be found here. If you know the title, author, or even the subject, you can look it up here and find where it is."

It was almost impossible for Jenny to comprehend the idea of an entire library being contained to a row of metal boxes. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Now, in the case of C.S. Lewis you can see…" Mrs. Phelps paused to open one of the drawers labeled L, "He has written a great many books, but many are meant for adults. However, if you ever have to stop in the middle of a book all you have to do is look it up here and you'll be able to find it again."

She pulled out a card and handed it to Jenny. Sure enough, the bold typeface clearly read _The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe_ with a series of numbers that Jenny knew represented the Dewy Decimal System, whatever _that_ was.

"Thank you," Jenny whispered, feeling as if she had been let in on a grand secret, though knew Mrs. Phelps was only doing her job.

"You're welcome. I've always thought that finding a good book was like…like finding the Crown jewels in a pigsty. Don't you agree?"

Jenny nodded emphatically, and after a few more instructions about the kardex returned to her pile of books, staring at the idyllic illustrations of Norman Rockwell with quiet longing until a quarter till eight when Aunt Trunchbull arrived to pick her up.

~x~

"It's not too late to sign up for the summer reading program, you know."

Mrs. Phelps fought the urge to sigh when Jenny shook her head. The girl was well-behaved, and after months of the librarian's careful guidance was blossoming into an avid reader, but she was too introverted by half. Children needed social interaction as much as they did education, but Jennifer Honey resisted human contact more than anyone else Mrs. Phelps knew, regardless of age.

The girl rebuffed the advances of the rest of the library staff, going so far as to ignore even Mrs. Phelps some days. This level of seclusion and self-isolation wasn't healthy, and Mrs. Phelps was of half a mind to speak to Agatha about it, but the busy principal rarely stayed for more than a few minutes at a time, and it was hard to get a word in edgewise when the woman did decide chat.

The summer reading program would have been perfect for Jenny to step outside of her comfort zone, but she refused to even consider!

"I'm not sure I'll be home much," Jenny said, her eyes darting this way and that in a manner that made Mrs. Phelps think she was lying.

"You don't have to do it for your whole break, Jenny," Mrs. Phelps implored. "And there will be tons of prizes. Wouldn't you like to win an ice cream treat or a free book of your own?"

Jenny squirmed in her seat, but was saved from answering by the untimely arrival of her aunt. The girl bolted from her chair, almost forgetting to take her backpack with her in her haste. Mrs. Phelps followed at a much slower pace, wondering how far she should press the matter. The last thing she wanted was for Jenny to shut her out like she did everyone else.

"Good afternoon, Agatha," she said evenly.

"Afternoon," the giantess barked, and not for the first time Mrs. Phelps wondered at how completely opposite she was from Jenny in every way. "Come along, Jenny."

"Yes, Aunt Trunchbull," Jenny mumbled, going even quieter than usual when faced with her aunt's natural bellow.

"Just a moment, Agatha," Mrs. Phelps said, hurrying for a flier before the pair could exit the library. "I was just telling Jenny this afternoon about our summer reading program. I'm sure you've heard that children can lose up to a grade level over the break if not…spurned," Mrs. Phelps said, her confidence wavering as Agatha Trunchbull fixed her with a quelling glare.

There was a too-long pause before Agatha took the paper from Mrs. Phelps hand. "Yes, well, thank you," she said, tucking it into a pocket without so much of a courtesy glance. "Now if you'll excuse us, I must really be getting Jennifer home."

"Yes, of course. And please do consider—Jenny would do so well, considering how much she loves to read."

Agatha nodded once, sharply, and led Jenny out of the library. Mrs. Phelps let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been keeping. No wonder Jenny was so skittish! It was almost impossible not to be with Agatha around. The poor girl needed to find herself outside of her aunt's overbearing shadow.

But Jenny never did sign up for the summer reading program, that year or any of the subsequent years, and Mrs. Phelps decided not to bring it up again. She'd said her peace, and even if she disagreed it was not her job to interfere with how Agatha Trunchbull chose to rear Jenny. Maybe someday a little of the Olympians infamous confidence would rub off on shy, timid Jennifer Honey. Until then Mrs. Phelps was content to show her the wonders of the written word.


End file.
